


All the Trees of the Field Shall Clap their Hands

by joojoobe



Category: NCT (Band), SM Rookies
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Completed, Demonic Possession, Demons, Horror, M/M, Paranormal, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 82,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joojoobe/pseuds/joojoobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The seal between the Underworld and the living world has been broken. In a blighted city, what differentiates the monster from the man? Taeyong, Jaehyun and the others are about to find out. </p><p> </p><p>[cross-posted on aff]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> I'm new to this site and still trying to figure out logistics, but I'm loving how comprehensive it is. This story is a horror/ post-apocalyptic fic with eventual romantic undertones (specifically Taeyong/ Jaehyun).
> 
> It's going to be quite a crazy ride with a heavy dose of possession, cults, blasphemy and sex; I hope that doesn't bother anyone! Most of the demonology I refer to in this story is from the Ars Goetia, if anyone is curious. This particular chapter jumps around a bit in time, so I hope that isn't confusing!
> 
> This story is also being posted on AFF, but the one I am posting on AO3 is slightly different (AKA, actually edited)
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, and feel free to leave me any thoughts or feedback in the comments section <3

___

___

Prologue

___

 

IT BEGINS LIKE THIS: the eye of heaven stitched shut on the eve of its extinction, sudden night no hand can wipe away. And somewhere, a congregation of voices chant over five human bodies, split like stone fruit from their sternum to their hips, emptied of their viscera. Inverted crosses thumbed over their foreheads with black ink, they are strung up in the trees like a chrysalis of skin, body and bone; offerings to some dark god. Their eyes shucked out like the meat of a blood clam.

                One hooded figure unfurls from the rest, a wild smile splitting a crescent moon on her face because it was finally, finally happening. Six hundred and Sixty-five days. Six hundred and sixty-five murders. Oh, they had been patient to raise their lord and bring on their rapture. But the wait was over. This was the six hundredth and sixty-sixth day, the devil’s day.

                She walks to the shivering figure on the floor before her. It is a boy, probably a few years shy of manhood, but he shakes like a bird with a clipped wing, staring with horrified eyes at the dead bodies spinning over his head. He will be the final offering.  She opens her parched lips to speak, and her voice is spilled wine:

             _So will my word be which goes forth from my mouth…_

                A dew drop of blood falls on his cheeks from the hanging bodies above, and the boy is manic with fear. He struggles on his bindings, his pupils dilated huge and cat-like, but it is useless. Useless. She continues moving closer, reaching into the sleeve of her robe.

_It will not return to me empty, without accomplishing what I desire….for you will go out with joy…_

                She pulls out a glistening knife, wiping the blade once against her robe. The boy is past words, past bargaining, his wrists weeping blood from where they chafed against the rope. He closes his eyes, dreams of his port-side town, the violently mountainous landscape of his country, the sound of his mother’s voice. To live, he would do anything. Anything.

_The mountains and the hills will break forth into shouts of joy before you…_

                He gasps as he feels the girl drop to her knees beside him. She strokes his sweat and blood matted hair away from his eyes. Tenderly. Like a lover. Was she letting him go? He opens his eyes, sees her lovely face illuminated under the moon. Such a sweet honeyed expression on such a pretty face.

                But no, the five gutted bodies are still spinning overhead. And she is raising the knife, her eyes alight with madness and joy. He will be both the last and the first.

_And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands_

                The knife bites into him in a flash of crimson, splattering her robe and face. He is dead in a matter of seconds, but she keeps stabbing in celebration because he is the last and the first. The final offering. The 666.

                The seal is broken. The underworld opens its jaw and swallows the known world whole.

 

___

Day 423

___

 

 

                The moon was a full orb overhead, a few street lamps flickering golden over the abandoned streets. Taeyong was shrouded in darkness. But he was used to that. After all, the sun had not risen in 423 days. It had been more than a year since the eternal night had fallen, and all had become used to living in the shadows.

                The back alleys of Seoul were empty today, not a soul in sight. But here and there, were pentagrams glowing red on the walls of houses; a plea to be spared and passed over by the evil that now reigned over the city. Something had happened in this particular alley, the ground awash in blood and candles. Perhaps a blood offering. Perhaps just another violent altercation between different sects, but the air was ripening with the iron of souring gore.

                Taeyong was covered in cold sweats as he walked down the alley. He was dragging along a bound and gagged body, some random middle aged man he didn’t recognize. But he recognized the look in his eyes all too well. Sheer terror. He recognized it because he felt it. He recognized it because he saw it in the faces of the people he loved every day.

                The man was struggling against the ropes that bound him, but it would not come loose. Taeyong had made sure to tie them tight, so he couldn’t escape. He had coiled a large knot at the base of his throat so the more he struggled, the more he suffocated. The man sputtered, and went still the way a trussed animal gives up right before the glint of an executioner’s blade.

                “I’m sorry….I’m so sorry.  Forgive me. Forgive me…” Taeyong kept repeating under his breath over and over like a litany, his wide brown eyes sweeping the streets. This was the closest he had come to prayer in four hundred days. No benevolent god would allow this destruction to happen, he wouldn’t pray anymore to the notion of a god. He’d pray to his fellow man instead “I’m sorry. Oh please… please…”

                They had reached a dead end, the walls towering high towards the treetops all around them. This would be as good a spot as any. Many murders had taken place here in the past, and the evil energy was pulsing high on the ground he stood.

                Taeyong let go of the man’s legs, and he immediately tried to squirm away from him, his shouts muffled by the cloth gagging his mouth. Taeyong pressed a foot onto his back, keeping him secured firmly against the ground so he couldn’t crawl away.

                “I’m sorry, I can’t let you go.” He said, his voice battered and desperate. “You can’t leave.”

                With a shaky breath, Taeyong unsheathed a blade from his belt, trying to control the violent tremors wracking his body. He had never killed before. In the past, he never would have believed himself to be capable. But times had changed, the world as they knew it had long since fallen. He would do what he must.

                He was just raising his hand to stab down when a familiar voice suddenly pierced the tense silence.

                “Taeyong!” And then many pairs of footsteps running down the alley towards him. A desperate sob threatened to rip out of his throat as he saw Jaehyun, Yuta, Hansol, and Ten sprinting towards him through the darkness. Yuta was the one calling out, his eyes wild with dread.

                He had to finish this. Taeyong raised his knife again, bringing it down, but Jaehyun was faster. He sprung forward, tackling him off the bound man.

                “Taeyong, stop! You don’t have to do this!” Jaehyun gasped as he tried to hold Taeyong down with his weight. Despite being smaller, Taeyong was not weak. He thrashed wickedly in attempts to get the younger man off of him.

                “Get off of me, there’s no other way!” His voice was colored with desperation. It scared even himself.

                “I can’t. I can’t let you.” Jaehyun said, gasping as one of Taeyong’s knees viciously pressed into his kidneys, the searing pain sending white across his vision.

                Yuta, Ten and Hansol were frozen to the spot watching their two friends thrash on the ground. Taeyong was beginning to sob despite himself, more from frustration than anything. He landed another brutal kick to Jaehyun’s stomach. The younger man yelped, but still held fast, not letting his grip falter for even a second. There was no other way. Taeyong turned his knife on him, swiping hard enough to break the skin of Jaehyun’s chest, not enough to cause serious injury, but enough to soak the front of his shirt with blood. Jaehyun gasped as the gash opened across his skin, his eyes alight in disbelief that his hyung… the hyung he trusted more than anyone, had just cut him. His grip loosened momentarily, but that was enough. Taeyong threw the younger man off of him.

                “There’s no other way. I have to save Mark. I have to save him.” Taeyong said, his voice wavering like a candle. And then the cold determination washed over him again. He stabbed down at the tied up man, and this time the knife hit its target. Even through the gag, the man’s screams cleaved the night as the knife bit through his skin, the muscle of his sternum, ribs, finally finding his heart. The blood did not burst, but wept as Taeyong carved a pentagram across the man’s flesh: a circle with a five pointed star. Oh, he wanted to vomit feeling the warmth of this man’s body leaving him in rivers, the snap of cartilage and bone. But he couldn’t turn back, he began to take up a chant, hurried Latin he neither understood nor cared to understand, he’d only practiced it for this moment.

                Jaehyun was wide eyed as the dead man’s chest began to glow, the pentagram taking up a harsh red light. Yuta gasped, running forward to grab Jaehyun off of the floor. They backed away from Taeyong and the corpse, horror blooming on their faces like the mouth of a venus flytrap. They were scared of him. Taeyong realized this, and was saddened. But he couldn’t blame them. How could he blame anyone for fearing him when his knife was still in a man.

                “I’m sorry.” He whispered again, tears lacing his vision. But this was truly the only way. Taeyong had promised long ago that he would protect everyone. And he knew this was the only chance he had to save Mark. His heart seared as he imagined the state Mark must have been: beaten, bloody, he would most certainly be killed if they didn’t save him soon. But he was too weak to do it alone. So he would sell half of himself to a monster, even if it ruined him in the end.

                He looked down at his hands, quivering on the handle of the blade, and suddenly the pentagram carved into the man’s chest was opening, blooming like a flower of flesh and bone: a small portal being opened. Red was blossoming across his vision everywhere. His body felt as though it were ignited in hellfire. A shadow was unfurling from the red glow of the pentagram, impossibly tall, and so dark it seemed to suck even the light of the moon into itself.

          _You are very brave to impinge upon me, young master._

                It held out a shadowy claw of a hand, and Taeyong reached forward to take it.

 

__

Day 0

__

 

            The music was still thudding like a heartbeat in their ears as the boys got back to the SM dormitory. Taeyong groaned as he walked through the door, pulling off his choker and massaging his sore neck. The outfits their stylists insisted on putting them in were uncomfortable and pinched their skin, the heavy leather necklaces in particular bit and snagged at the skin of their throats to the point of raising red welts. A good part of him couldn’t wait for this promotion cycle to be over.

            Despite his weariness though, he couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to their performance on Music Core. So many fans had showed up, and their chants had filled his heart with warmth. It seemed that slowly but surely, he was being forgiven for his past mistakes, and that was enough to push him through the performances, no matter how much his body ached and protested.

            “Does your back hurt?” A familiar voice asked, and Taeyong turned to Yuta. He tried to shake his head no, but the grimace on his face gave him away. The base of his spine was on fire. He would probably need to sleep with a hot pack pressed against it.

            “I’ll heat up a warm compress for you. Why don’t you sit down?” Yuta said, smiling warmly before meandering to the kitchen.

            The dorm was in the same state of wildness it usually was. Donghyuk was antagonizing Mark as usual, and Winwin and Jaehyun were digging in their freezer for ice cream. Hansol and Johnny, despite having a perfectly functional television in their own dorms next door, were camping out in front of their TV watching music videos. Taeyong sat down heavily beside them with a glass of water. He was so exhausted, two back to back promotion cycles was wearing him down, but he couldn’t help but smile in the presence of his bandmates who, over the years as rookies, had become his best friends.

            “Isn’t it time for Hit the Stage to come on?” Mark asked, sitting on the arm of their couch.

            “Oh yeah, you’re right.” Johnny turned the channel, and they were right on time. Ten was standing in the middle of the stage in a blood red robe, the smoke rising to coil like vapored snakes in front of his delicate features. A soft church hymn began to play with the clang of a bell, and Ten began to dance. Everyone gathered close to the TV, even talkative Donghyuk unable to make a sound as their bandmate began to undulate on stage, enacting first a prayer: a hand reaching to the red light of heaven, his fingers drawing a cross against his heart. And then the stage darkened, the eerie hymn tapering off and being overtaken by a heavy trap beat. He was acting out possession. With a decidedly devilish grin, Ten ripped open the priest’s robe, and it was as if he was igniting the stage under his feet.

            Yuta whistled in appreciation as Ten flew across the stage, then flipped onto his back, coiling around as if he lacked a spine. And then as quickly as it began, it was over. The crowd swelled with applause, even the judges wide eyed with wonder.

            The NCT boys burst into cheers in front of the TV, pride rising like a high tide in their chests. That was their boy Ten, the power rookie that would rise and cuff everyone who doubted him in the ear.

            “That was amazing!” Hansol said, clapping, and everyone murmured in agreement.

            The clock struck midnight over their heads, and Taeyong tapped Donghyuk and Mark on the head.

            “Midnight. It’s time for the kids to go to bed.” He said chidingly. The two minors groaned but obeyed their hyung, standing to go brush their teeth and wash up for bed.  The two boys bickered all the way to their bedrooms, and even behind the shut door, their lighthearted arguing could still be heard. Taeyong laughed and shook his head. Donghyuk really was a handful at times.

            Now that Ten had finished his dance, Yuta picked up the remote and changed the channel to the nighttime news. Yuta had always been careful about keeping up with current events, especially after interning at Abnormal Summit. He leaned back from his place on the floor, letting his head fall back onto Jaehyun’s knees as the reporters glanced at their cue cards, preparing to speak.

 _Violent cult activity, or the act of a very prolific serial killer? Mira Kim is on the scene at Haeunde beach in Busan._ The TV panned towards a female reporter.

“That’s the beach near my parent’s home.” Hansol said, looking concerned. “It’s quite unusual for it to be completely empty like that though. That beach is almost always overflowing with people.”

_In the past 24 hours, six dead bodies have washed ashore on Haunde beach. All six of the bodies were bled completely white, and had the same pentagram symbols cut into their chests._

_In the past few weeks, similar stories have been reported in various countries all around the world including Canada, Italy, Russia, Japan, and many others. Busan law enforcement fears that there may be a copy-cat killer loose in Korea, emulating the pattern of murders that have occurred abroad. In response to the ritualistic mode of these murders, officials all over the world have begun to crack down of cults and other private institutions of worship. As of now, there are no solid leads as to who may have committed these ritualistic murders, but if anyone has any leads of tips, Busan law enforcement has set up an anonymous hotline that can be reached at…._

            Yuta shivered and turned off the TV.

            “Jesus Christ, this world is getting scary.” He said as he stood up, heading towards his room. “I’m going to bed. We have an early day tomorrow, so you guys should too.”

            Winwin nodded, and he and Taeil made their way to their room, chattering in a broken mix of Chinese, Korean, and English.

            The living room emptied one by one until Taeyong was alone. He pressed the hot compress that Yuta had warmed for him against his aching back as he stared at the blank screen of the TV. The weird cultish murders had been a bit of a strange trend in crime as of late. It all must have started since that sensational news story broke a few weeks back about the six dead bodies that had been found strung up in the trees of some remote Romanian forest. The bodies had all been drained of blood, and completely emptied of their organs; black crosses painted across their foreheads. The strangest thing though was that when the officials found the bodies, they had been dead for days but showed no sign of decomposition. It had been all over the news and the internet. It was almost impossible to not run across the candid crime scene photos of the bodies. Taeyong and Ten gagged when they accidentally ran across it on an image hosting website, and they had been a little scared to browse the internet since.

            And ever since that sensational news story broke, similar murders were taking place all over the world. Pentagrams cut into bodies, tongues removed, inverted crosses appearing on walls. People seemed to be losing it, rapture and apocalypse at the tips of everyone’s tongues. Taeyong thought it was ridiculous. This was clearly just the work of some sick in the head copy-cat killers. As sick as it was, even crimes had trends. Sometimes arson and immolation ran rampant. Sometimes stabbings. Now it just happened to be serial killers who marked their kills with satanic symbols. It would blow over eventually, and people would find new ways to hurt each other.

            Taeyong sighed, shuffling a little to alleviate the pain in his spine. It was inexplicable, but he felt as though he was standing on a precipice overlooking a pit of pitch black darkness, a hand reaching out to push him over. Did any of those poor murdered individuals look towards the sky before the knife bit down. Did they think for even one brief moment that their rapture had come?


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and for taking the time to read this messed up/ crazy story. Please don't be shy to drop me some feedback, as I'm always looking to improve my writing <3

~~

  **Excerpt from “Protect and Survive”, the first official pamphlet on the demon outbreak put forth by the South Korean department of Homeland Security.**

…In response to the present crisis of the outbreak, this informational booklet has been designed for free and general distribution to the public. It is advised that every household be equipped with this booklet, and refer to it in the case of outside danger or of a family or friend’s possession….read it with care, your life and the life of your family may depend on it. Do as it advises, and keep it safely on hand…

~~

 

 

Day 1

 

~

 

            The farmer was chopping wood for the fireplace when it happened: a sudden rumble that nearly set him off his footing. He dug his axe into the ground to steady himself until the mighty quake had passed. And then there was the sound of collapse, a whistle like air being sucked in through a pipe

            He cursed, and then took up a hurried prayer as the earth opened up right before his eyes, a giant sinkhole suddenly collapsing his apple orchard and swallowing a bunch of his horses whole. They were braying all the way down, until he couldn’t hear them anymore. He never heard them hit the ground. Perhaps the bottom was too deep, perhaps they were still falling.

            The farmer stood, his legs wobbling from fear. The sinkhole had opened up a mere half mile away from where he stood, and he was miraculously still alive.

            “Papa!” he turned to see his teenage daughter running out of their house, her blue eyes alight with fear. “Papa! Oh my God, our orchard!”

            She stared wide eyed at the sinkhole, her face scribbled with disbelief. They had read articles of sinkholes opening up in Florida or South America or other regions with lots of rainfall, but such a thing was unheard of in their country.

            The farmer stroked his daughter’s soft blond hair away from her face, a halfhearted gesture of comfort because they had just lost thousands of dollars worth of crops. Their entire livelihood had just been ruined in one swoop.

            Despite the danger, something about the sinkhole was beckoning him closer, almost like a whisper from somewhere just outside of his realm. Without permission, his body was moving. Closer and closer to the edge, the darkness that seemed endless. Was probably endless.

            “Pa, what are you doing? Don’t get near that thing, it’s dangerous. We have to call the government.”  His daughter was saying, tugging lightly on his arm, but the compulsion was strong. He needed to peer into the sinkhole.  He walked towards it blankly, the axe he’d been chopping wood with still hanging loosely in his grasp. His daughter looked worried but she followed him anyway.

            The sinkhole was incredibly deep, a yawning crevice opened in the earth where he could fathom no bottom. And then he heard it. Distinctly, but from within. Almost as if the voice or rather, the voices were speaking directly into his head.

            _At last… at last…it is opened. We are freed._

            It sounded like a cacophony of voices, thousands and thousands of hellish whispers. He grunted in pain and covered his ears, and his daughter bent over him, hearing nothing but the thudding of her own blood in her ears.

“Papa!” She kept saying, but he wouldn’t answer, just clutched to his head like it was splitting. They didn’t notice, but above them, the afternoon sun was making a steady arc down the sky and  past the horizon; setting hours before it was supposed to. This was the last sundown.

            The farmer jerked as he felt something enter him, a dark energy he had never known in his fifty peaceful years of life. It spread through his body, tightening his grip on the axe. He was laughing, and his daughter was gripping him, scared and confused. Then his voice rose into the air, unrecognizable and pitched:

            _We didn’t deserve to fall…. We don’t deserve to be fallen…. We never deserved to be ousted from the gates of heaven…_

            “Pa?” She whispered as he straightened up, turning to face her. The smile on his face was a toothsome gash. He raised the axe high above his head. She didn’t even have time to scream before it came down and cleaved her like a winter melon.

 

~

 

            Taeyong woke before his alarm went off, his body still aching from their dance performance the night before. He groaned as he looked towards the clock. It was 6am. They would have to be up for another recording in twenty minutes anyways, so there was no point in trying to go back to sleep.

            With a yawn, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Donghyuk was snoring softly from his corner of the room, completely dead to the world. Taeyong couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes he thought Mark and Donghyuk were much too young for the idol lifestyle. But they both handled the pressures well. Perhaps they even handled it better than he himself did. The stress of so much attention often kept Taeyong up at night. He’d never been an insomniac until he’d become famous.

            He got up, running his hand through his silver hair. He’d slept fitfully the night before. He’d had a series of splintered nightmares that he could not remember as a whole. Just flashes and bits. A starless sky, glowing red eyes, the wet cave of a body emptied of its innards, a chain link snapping, and then nothing. It must have been the morbid news of the cult killings they’d watched on the TV the night before. It had infiltrated his dreams.

            “Donghyuk, you have to get out of bed in ten minutes. We have to get down to the stylists soon.” Taeyong said, reaching out to pull the curtains back. Donghyuk was a heavy sleeper when it came to sound. Everyone in the house could be partying at the top of their lungs, and he could sleep through it. But he was sensitive to sunlight.

            Taeyong pulled the heavy curtain to the side, then froze in confusion. He peered outside, blinking a few times to see if his eyes were deceiving him. There was no sunlight. The moon was still bright and bulbous in the ink black sky.

            “What in the world?” Taeyong murmured to himself as he looked back towards the alarm clock. It was 6:10am. It was well past dawn. The sky should have been awash in the orange and pink hues of sunrise. But there was only darkness punctuated by the light of street lamps, and even those were flickering off all around the city, hardwired to save their power during the day. But the day was not coming. Not even the morning birds had taken up their songs.

            An inexplicable dread spreading through his fingertips, Taeyong snuck past Donghyuk’s sleeping form. The other older members of NCT 127 were probably awake by now, getting ready for their schedules.

            As he exited his room, he found that they were already in the living room: Jaehyun, Yuta, Winwin, Taeil, and Mark chattering bewilderedly amongst themselves.

            Winwin nodded his greeting towards Taeyong as he joined them. Jaehyun was in the kitchen bustling to make a pot of coffee, but his face was troubled.

            “…It’s just so weird that the sun isn’t rising. I wonder if we’re in some weird reverse solar eclipse cycle?” Yuta was saying to Taeil who was shaking his head.

            “No, no that isn’t possible. Something like a solar eclipse wouldn’t cause this. We’d see a penumbra in the sky, but not this darkness.”

            Jaehyun walked towards them with a tray of coffee, putting it down on the table and picking up the remote.

            “Maybe there will be something on the news about it.” He said, turning the TV on.

            Winwin handed Taeyong his coffee and he accepted gratefully, sipping on the bitter stuff to quell his nerves. What was this sudden anxiety? There must have been some scientific reason the sun had not risen yet. There must be a logical explanation.

            The TV flicked into focus, and immediately the news was plastered with red notifications of breaking news. Winwin tugged on Yuta’s sleeve for translation, looking anxious and confused. Normally at this time, the news reported nothing but weather advisories, but not now.

            Mark sat down heavily on the couch, his eyes wide as the reporters argued amongst themselves about the unexplainable phenomenon’s that were occurring all around the world. In certain time zones, the sun had gone down and failed to come up. In other time zones, the sun had rapidly gone down, despite it being several hours before normal nightfall. In countries all around the world, sink holes were opening up, swallowing homes, farmland, and whole sections of urban cities. The global crime statistic had also surged seemingly overnight, particularly in the cities affected by the sinkholes. Thousands of people with no prior criminal record were falling to unexplainable rage and violent episodes, maiming or killing loved ones before waking up a moment later with no recollection of what they had just done. The first reported case had been in a remote village in France. A normally gentle and law abiding farmer had taken an axe to his oldest daughter’s face after a sinkhole opened up on his property. But the horrors didn’t stop there. It seemed to go on and on. A seven year old child in South Korea had set fire to his parents bodies. A professor in the United States brought a firearm to his class and randomly open fired on his students, only to collapse and wake up with no memory of the incident. A mother in Japan systematically drowns her children in the bathtub and when she is taken to the police station, she is repeating It is opened… it is opened. It is opened, obsessively as she rocks back and forth in her seat.

            Jaehyun’s hands were shaking around the cup of coffee, splashing blisteringly hot liquid down his hands, but he hardly noticed the pain. Everyone was shocked into silence watching the parade of horrors on their TV screen.

            “I’m going to wake up the other guys.” Yuta said suddenly, running towards the next door dorm that Johnny and Hansol shared with the others. Winwin followed him close behind, the worry for Kun evident on his face.

            “What the fuck is happening?” Jaehyun muttered to himself. He glanced out the window to the impenetrable darkness. The streetlamps were flickering back on, the city council clearly having realized their predicament and turning all of the public lights back on to mitigate the darkness just a little. “What is happening?”

            Taeyong’s heart was thudding an ugly beat in his ears. His mind kept traveling back to the cult killings that had been occurring in the past few weeks. But it was impossible that there was any correlation, wasn’t it? This wasn’t a movie. This was life, and ghosts and hell didn’t exist.

            Donghyuk was joining them, finally having woken. Hansol, Johnny, Kun, Jeno and Jaemin had also joined them, following after Yuta and Kun with confused expressions.

            And then they all watched TV together in mute horror. No one came for them. Their manager didn’t call for them. Surely, he too was in his own apartment watching the news with a mouthful of fright.

            Mark suddenly jumped up from his seat as the news shifted to another story of a whole neighborhood of a Canadian city being swallowed by a sink hole. He whipped out his phone, hurriedly dialing his father’s number. Taeyong could see the young teen’s whole body physically trembling. Yuta reached out and took his hand bracingly in his own as the phone rang and rang. And just when Taeyong was going to assume no one would ever pick up, someone did. Despite the phone not being on speaker, everyone could hear everything.

            “Mark!” the voice said over the static of the phone, clearly panting and terrified.

            Taeyong swore he saw Mark’s pupils dilate with worry.

            “Dad! You’re okay!” He said without any real relief. he sounded terrified.

            “Oh, Mark….the ground opened up and swallowed more than ten blocks of the city!” his father was panting into the phone as if she was running.

            “Is the family okay?” He asked, squeezing Yuta’s hand until it was deathly white, but Yuta didn’t dare pull away.

            “None of them fell in, but we got separated. Everyone is going crazy here, people are running, and people are attacking people. Where are you son, are you safe? Is everything okay where you…” he suddenly went quiet, and then gasped as if in preparation to scream, and then the phone suddenly disconnected.

            “Dad! Dad!” Mark shouted, as the line went quiet. He immediately dialed again… and again…. And again….

            He choked back a sob as the phone went to voicemail a fourth time, dropping his phone as he struggled to get control of his emotions. Taeyong watched as Mark’s face flickered from worry, to terror, to grief, and he knew that Mark wouldn’t be able to hold it in.

            “My f-fa-family…” he sobbed as he took a few blind staggers forward and Taeyong caught him in his arms, trying to whisper consoling words into his ears, but what could he possibly say? Mark only shook harder, and Taeyong could only hold him up as his knees buckled. All around, the faces of his members flickered from sorrow for Mark, to worry for their own family, but no one made the move to call home. Perhaps they were scared of what they might hear. Taeyong knew that he was. He was scared and confused and filled with disbelief.

            A sudden knock on the door punctuated the heavy silence. Everyone stared wide eyed at the door, even Mark was startled into choking down his sobbing.

            Ten looked wildly around their living room to make sure no one was missing. But no, all of their friends and bandmates were there. Who was at the door?

            The knocking turned into a steady ringing of the doorbell, an eerie hymn punctuating the darkness.

            Taeyong slowly untangled himself from Mark.

            “Don’t go. Don’t go. Let them think this dorm is empty.” Ten whispered, his black of his eyes somehow larger from fear.

            “What if it’s someone we know? What if they need help?” Taeyong asked as he slowly inched towards the door, his whole body screaming at him not to. As a precaution, he picked up a meat cleaver from the kitchen, and startled as he saw that Jaehyun, Yuta, and Hansol were also following him, backing him up. He was unbelievably grateful.

            But suddenly something in the core of his being told him this wasn’t right. That whatever was behind the door was wrong. He held up a hand to his friends, and slowly backed away. Ten was right. Maybe they should just pretend to be gone. Or they could try to climb down the fire escape.

            The doorbell rang again, and suddenly someone was speaking, softly, with the lilt of a lullaby.

            “I know you’re in there, let me in.” the voice said, and Taeyong recognized it immediately. It was their manager’s voice. Unmistakably so. But there was something off about it. He would never use such a sing-song tone to speak to them.

            Everyone held their silence, the utter wrong-ness of it seeping through everyone’s bones.

            “I know you’re all there. Let me in, don’t you trust me?”

            Taeyong was going to faint. White tingeing his vision as his heart beat wildly out of control. Hansol placed a bracing hand on his back.

            “What happened to you, manager Hyung?” Hansol asked towards the door, his voice full of distrust. Taeyong thought it was a small miracle that Hansol was able to keep his voice was steady.

            “What do you mean what happened? I’m doing ever so well. I just want to play with you.”

            Taeyong shivered. Play? At 7 in the morning? What had gotten into him?

            “Please leave.” Hansol replied, his eyes deeply unnerved.

            “But why? I just want to play with you. We can do whatever you want. We can play games and converse, or if you want, I can touch you. I’ll touch you anywhere you ask me to…”

            “Please just stay the fuck away.” Hansol said, pulling Taeyong and Yuta away from the door, grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter. Ten looked ready to pass out as their manager, or whatever had taken over their manager continued to ring the doorbell and speak from the other side of the door. His voice was suddenly not sweet and sing-songy anymore, but desperate, a little angry.

            “boys I’ve been locked up for so long. For ages and ages. But now it’s opened, and now I’m free, so won’t you entertain me a bit? Something big is coming. Something bad, but I can keep you safe if you… if you just give yourself to me. So just let me in and we’ll have lots of fun…”

            The door handle was jiggling up and down now. Jaemin was desperately trying to call 911, but no one was picking up. It just rang and rang and rang.

            “Get the young ones into the room and hide.” Hansol said solemnly to Mark, and the younger boy sprung to action dragging Jaemin, Jeno and Donghyuk into the room and slamming the door.

            A bitter laughter was coming from behind the door, their manager’s voice frightening in its familiarity. This was wrong. This was wrong, and dangerous but Taeyong didn’t know why.

            And then suddenly the door handle was melting away as if doused in acid, the lock and the wood being eaten, dissolving into mulch before their eyes.

            Ten sucked in a panicked breath as the door finally fell away from the hinges, and whatever stood on the other side walked in.

 

~~

**Excerpt from “Protect and Survive”, the first official pamphlet on the demon outbreak put forth by the South Korean department of Homeland Security.**

Possession occurs when a non-corporeal demon enters into and seizes control of a human host body (whether it be in compliance or against the host’s will). Demon possessions can be either overt or covert in nature, but a drastic change in the host’s personality may not always be apparent. Civilians should remain calm as they go about their work to help rebuild the city, but should also be ever vigilant. If a peer or loved one’s behavior unexpectedly changes, assume that they have been possessed. It is the duty of the civilian to execute any person suspected to be taken over by a demon for the betterment and safety of the whole. As of now, the only infallible proof of an individual’s possession is determinable only after death: the blood drawn from the jugular will be black in color.

 

~          

            “Oh god..” Johnny murmured under his breath as the door miraculously, no, cursedly dissolved right before their eyes. It was like an antacid pill being eaten away by seltzer, the wood falling into pulp, miniscule and insignificant. “Oh god, oh god.”

            Taeyong felt himself quivering like a branch in a storm. This couldn’t be happening. His mind kept flickering from the present horror before them, and the four youngest members probably huddled in the closet inside the room. What if something happened to them? He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. But no, Mark was with them. Calm and capable Mark. Even if something happened to all of the hyungs, Mark would find a way to keep them safe.

            His grip tightened on the meat cleaver’s handle, his eyes taking quick glances at the members. Jaehyun, Yuta, and Hansol had grabbed knives from the kitchen. But Johnny, Winwin, Ten and the others remained unarmed. Quickly, he pulled them behind the armed members, backing the whole group away from the door that was falling off its hinges.

            And then it was walking in. It wore their manager’s face, but it was not any being they recognized, the crazy glint behind his brown eyes rendering his familiar face utterly uncanny. It was almost suffocating, the amount of dark energy it brought into the room. Taeyong almost swore he was drowning, any spark of hope he had suddenly doused. Their manager’s white T-shirt was covered in bloody handprints and other flecks of gore. Taeyong didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know whose.

            “You don’t look very happy to see me.” He said, his voice strangely split as if put through a vocal alteration device. He walked forward, his eyes unblinking and huge. Outside the sound of sirens cut through the fog, the low din of human voices carpeting the night in swells of confusion and terrors. Taeyong wanted to wake up from this nightmare. It seemed impossible that last night his biggest worry had been being fatigued from his busy schedule. If they could just wake from this reality, he would work until he coughed blood. He would dance until the bone of his heels eroded into sediment. He closed his eyes, trying to will it all away, but it was hopeless. There was no way out.

            “What have you done to our manager?” Taeyong asked, commanding himself not to tremble.

            It was walking towards him with a lupine lope, all predatory muscle and sly smiles.

            “What do you mean what have I done to him?” It said, its voice still split, a high pitched keening note carpeted with tenor. It tapped on its own chest. “He’s still right here, listening and watching. I’ve just made home of his body. It’s mine. How strange it is to wear the meat of a man. I’d much have preferred that of a woman.”

            It began to reach for Taeyong’s face, slowly, deliberately.

            “But isn’t this okay? Isn’t it nice that I wear such a familiar face? I can stay with you, I can keep you safe if just one of you… just one of you give yourself to me.”

            It ran a finger gently down Taeyong’s cheeks, and he was too shocked to recoil away, his manager’s face looming closer and closer to his. It was smiling, but there was something so off about the expression. The eyes expressed no joy, nothing but desperation and…. Hunger? Lust? The finger slowly traced a trail down his jaw to the corded muscle of his neck, covetous. He felt like a fruit being tested for ripeness, the give of his flesh, the sweetness of his pulp. He wanted to scream but couldn’t.

            “The others would kill you for sport, but I’m not like the others. I like humans because they mirror me so closely. The same passion. The same propensity for darkness and fondness. I see it in you.”

            And suddenly the hand had tightened on his throat, cutting off the air immediately. This was not the strength of any normal human, no normal man could strangle with the effectiveness of a noose. Taeyong gasped out, stars streaking across his vision like a sudden galaxy. All around he heard alarmed voices, but the pressure at his neck didn’t diminish, he felt as if the very tendon of his throat would snap, and he knew he was dying. He knew it the same way a mayfly hatched knowing its lifespan was limited to one sunrise. Taeyong teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, feeling a cool wash of acceptance take over him. If this was the end, let it come. The shouting voices diminished to a low din, and his vision was soft white everywhere…

            Then suddenly he was back, the air flooding back into his lungs in desperate, choking gasps. The hand had released him and he was on the floor, his vision swimming under a veil of unshed tears. And just as quickly as he had accepted his fate, the fear came rushing back as palpable as pain. Taeyong looked up, and saw that Hansol had slammed his knife down on their manager’s shoulder with such force that only the hilt was visible. Blood was weeping from around the wound, the flesh around it a grievous mess of cut tendon and flesh, but it seemed more angered than pained. It swung its arms in a wild arc, and Taeyong could only gasp as Hansol was launched halfway across the room, skidding across the ground until he finally hit the wall in a crumpled heap. Yuta yelped and ran towards him, sighing with relief when he sat up on his own, his arm bent at an odd angle, but otherwise unharmed.

            “Get up Taeyong.” Ten said as he huddled beside the still coughing member. His throat was already beginning to bruise, black imprints of fingers ringed around his neck like third degree burns. The room was in chaos. Johnny had run into the room to gather Mark, Jaemin and Donghyuk because there would be no hiding from this monster. They would have to run. And they did.

            Ten half helped, half dragged Taeyong out of the dorm, and they streaked outside into the empty hallway.

            “Don’t look back.” Jaehyun gasped as their footsteps stamped an ugly beat on the linoleum. It was following them. Taeyong wasn’t sure how he knew, how he could differentiate its footsteps from their own, but he could.

            “You don’t know what you’re running towards.” It was calling after them, a seductive, decidedly feminine lilt to its voice. Unlike them, it wasn’t winded. There was no fatigue. It would catch up to them soon. They would have to face it eventually. “The reign of your god is over. It’s our turn. You flee me towards something much worse, but I can protect you. I can love you much better than your God did.”

            And suddenly Winwin was screaming.

            Everyone screeched to a stop and turned. Taeyong swore his heart nearly burst as he saw it wrestle the younger member down to the ground, loosening the knife embedded in its own shoulder. It was murmuring a frantic litany: just offer me one life, just offer me one life…  and suddenly Taeyong saw himself reflected in the monster: a very human desperation written all over its face, a mirror of fear. It raised the bloodied knife high above its head, aiming straight for Winwin’s throat. The members were already running to intervene, but it would be too late, they would not make it in time. The knife was already making its arc down, cutting through air with the glint of a closing eye. Taeyong stumbled. He turned away. He imagined the knife biting down into his friend’s jugular, spitting crimson, and he couldn’t bear to watch.

            Barely knowing what he was doing, Johnny took up a hurried prayer.

_I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, our lord…_

            It suddenly froze above Winwin, the knife poised barely inches above his throat. A hint of discomfort flickered across its vision as Johnny continued.

_Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into Hell…._

            Winwin swiftly pushed it off of his body, and escaped from its grasp, running straight into Yuta who held him like a doorframe, but all eyes were on the thing that wore their manager’s body. Its body was overtaken with quaking, shaking its head slowly as if to rid itself of a migraine.

            “Weak…. Your words are weak…” It said, almost as if to reassure itself, but Taeyong could see the effect it was having, the quickly bleaching skin, the irises expanding to cover the whites of his eyes in inky blackness. And suddenly, it was running at them. It was impossibly fast like the arc of a shadow. Yuta yelped as it fell upon him, trying to tear at him with its bloodied nails. There was no more trace of that eerie playfulness, no more seductive lilts in its voice, only rage and the definite hint of fear.

            “Keep reciting…” Taeyong gasped towards Johnny, and he did immediately, invoking every god and deity he had ever heard of. Taeyong ran forward, grabbing a fistful of his manager’s hair and pulling him off of Yuta. Ten and Jaehyun were right beside him, and together they wrestled him to the ground where it thrashed and gnashed its teeth like a dying animal.

            “Someone kill it. Oh fuck, someone kill it, please.” Taeyong sobbed, his voice coming out mangled and bruised. Even as he said it, a numbing pain was spreading through his chest, because even if something had taken over him, this was still their manager’s body. Someone he cared about.

            “You’ll be sorry…. You’ll be sorry” it repeated over and over, its voice gravelly as it thrashed underneath all of their grips. Its eyes were completely black and reflective, like two beetles on a birch tree. Evil. It was evil.

            Yuta raised the kitchen knife high above his head, he was panting hard, sweat matting his hair down over his forehead. He was already hyperventilating at the prospect of killing a man. But he had to. There was no other way.

            He stabbed it through the ribs and it roared,  twisting and turning in a desperate attempt to escape. It bit down hard on Jaehyun’s wrist, drawing crimson, but still they held fast.

            “Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.” Yuta whimpered as he raised the knife again. He would never forget the utter wrongness of the feeling of flesh caving underneath his blade. Not if he lived a thousand years. He needed to end this quickly or he would go mad.

            He drew it’s head back, exposing the throat. He traced a quick line across the jugular, slitting it, and the thing went still immediately. Yuta gasped as he saw the blood spilling from its opened throat was not red but jet black. Hell black. But his eyes were going back to normal: the whites slowly returning , the black pupils receding to a speck. And suddenly Taeyong realized that the manager they knew and loved had returned to control over this body. Whatever had seized him had left.

            “Hyung!” He cried out, lifting him up. He was heavy and drenched in sweat. Yuta was behind them, still panting, struggling to gather control of himself. Johnny was still praying under his breath. He had never stopped praying.

            Taeyong looked down at his manager’s face. His throat was cut, he would not be able to speak, but he was mouthing something.

_Save me._

            His heart stilled before anyone could respond. The moon held vigil overhead, lonely for no one.


	3. Split

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All demons referred to by name are from Ars Goetia, a 17th century text on demonology

**Excerpt from “Protect and Survive”, the first official pamphlet on the demon outbreak put forth by the South Korean department of Homeland Security.**

 

When confronting a possible possession, it is imperative for citizens to differentiate the type of demon in question. Herein you will find a general breakdown of the known demon classes and how you may approach handling them:

  * Spirits of the dead: The reanimated will of the evil dead. Because these demons were once mortal, they can often be easily dispelled with a combination of recitation of scripture, salt circles and holy water. A possession by a demon of this type is often the most apparent, as the change in an individual’s demeanor will be most heavily altered. These demons have no physical form, and rely on possession to enact their will (For more information, flip to pg.50)
  * Succubus/ Incubus: Demons of the female or male form that prey on human lives by means of seduction. Sex with an succubus or incubus can result in health failure, mental deterioration, and eventually death. These demons can also take on corporeal forms. In their physical forms, Succubus and Incubus will manifest as women or men of extreme and unnatural beauty. When faced with a demon of this class, proceed with extreme caution. (For more information, flip to pg. 54)
  * The Fallen: Wicked/ corrupted angels that have been cast out of heaven. These demons possess immense and diverse capabilities, and unquellable rage. These high ranking demons rarely ascend from the underworld unless called upon. There is no further information on these demons. There is no known way to contain or protect oneself from their wrath….



 

~

Day 1

 

~

            When Yuta was four years old, he had spent one summer with his Grandfather in the countryside of Japan. He had been young then, but he remembered everything so clearly: the sea-side salt in the air, the long marsh grass throwing their underbellies up to the wind, the rippling barley fields. He’d spent all day running through the wilderness, rejoicing in the fact that he could run for miles, all the way from the hills to the sea, and not hear a single siren or car horn blaring. For that brief time, it was just him and nature. The urban lights of Osaka a mere suggestive flicker in the distance.

                This was the summer he learned about death.

            “Come help me slaughter this hen so we can have her for supper.” His Grandfather said as he wrangled a plump chicken from the pen. Its eyes were black pin pricks, dumb and vacuous.

            Slaughter. It was a word Yuta had never heard before. And then his grandfather was wrapping Yuta’s small hands around the chicken’s throat, teaching him to hold it down. Trusting and simple, the hen barely struggled, cooing its last serenade.

            “Hold it still, Grandson.” He said as he unshucked his army knife, running it once swiftly across the hen’s neck. It sputtered, flapping its futile wings as its blood spilled over Yuta’s hands. It had been a shocking hue of red young Yuta had never seen. It was hot and slick like grease, drenching his fingers in the smell of outhouse and iron. With a childish innocence, he had waited for the chicken to arise, preen itself clean of the crimson staining its feathers, return to plucking seeds off of the dirt. Of course it never did, and the concept of death and finality barreled into him like a freight train.

            “Don’t cry, young one. No living thing can only thrive.” His grandfather has said as he began to pluck the feathers off the hen, chopping away the limbs, emptying it of viscera. He laid it all aside in a little trash bag: coils of intestine, beak, heart, little mottled liver. “I only wanted to teach you that endings and beginnings go hand in hand. This hen’s life is ended, but we will find nourishment in her flesh. Enough to begin again tomorrow.”

            It was ridiculous, but Yuta couldn’t help but remember that childhood summer now as he ran down the hallway with his friends. He remembered the hot blood of the hen spilling over his hands… how it felt so similar to the hot blood of his manager as he sliced a knife across his throat. But oh God, this blood had been black. So black and tar-like in consistency. Just thinking about it made Yuta want to scream. It made his knees weak.

            _Endings and beginnings go hand in hand, huh Grandpa? I wonder then what kind of beginning we can hope for now._

            Taeyong reached the door first, holding it open so everyone could file outside. Yuta glanced at his watch. It was 8am. And still, the sky was pitch black night. The fear and incredulity kept hitting him in waves. He couldn’t believe he was living what he was living. And then the sounds.

            The sky was heavy with the blaring of sirens and human voices.

            “Police?” Jaemin muttered hopefully.

            “Maybe.” Taeyong said, quickly counting to make sure they had not lost anyone in their mad dash to get outside. “Everyone stay together.” He said as they walked towards the sound of sirens. They had barely turned a corner when sudden gunshots rang out into the sky and a stampede of people suddenly surged their way. Taeyong could only gape at what he saw. Jaemin had been right, there were law enforcement, a flickering menagerie of fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars. But there were also…. military grade tanks rolling up and down the street. And the police and  soldiers were pointing their weapons towards civilians.

            “Citizens, please remain calm and orderly.” A soldier commanded through his speakerphone, his gun dangling heavily from his shoulders. But who could remain orderly when the sun had not risen? When people woke to their family members undulating in their beds like the devil had taken them?  When the city was already littered with bodies?

            “We need answers!” Someone was shouting from the crowd. Taeyong looked around wildly, suddenly not sure if they would all be safer back inside the SM dorms. But even if they did wall themselves in there, then what?

            “Everything is under control. Return to your homes and barricade the doors. The government will come retrieve you and take you to safety in due time.” The soldier was saying before another general outcry arose.

            “In due time? We need safety now!”

            And then there was a cacophony of voices speaking of their horrors. Stories of a daughter strangling her younger brother in his sleep, A husband threatening to stab his wife, a child laughing maniacally while setting fire to a house pet.

            Taeyong felt someone’s hand tangle itself in his. Jaehyun glanced at him with surprising calm.

            “I don’t think we should be here. I don’t think we can trust law enforcement to keep us safe anymore.” He muttered, and Taeyong nodded in grim agreement. Everything felt surreal, as if he were living out the scene of a movie. But Jaehyun’s words at least, he knew to be true. The presence of military grade weaponry did little to quell his fears. In fact, it only amplified them.

            “Let’s get everyone out of here. We’ll take our chances back at the SM building.” Taeyong muttered, just before the unmistakable rattle of gun fire once again punctuated the night. In horror, Taeyong turned right in time to watch a line of civilians mowed down by one of the soldiers. A din of screaming rose into the air. Even from this distance, Taeyong could see the hint of manic fear in the young soldier’s eyes, his composure cracking at the seams.

            “Stand down!” The young soldier was screaming, but a woman suddenly broke from the throngs of people, leaping towards him with an almost animalistic gait.

 _Possessed. Like manager-hyung._   Taeyong’s mind told him automatically as the soldier open fired on the woman. Her chest split like a cleaved fruit, but madly, impossibly she just screeched and continued towards him, landing with a sharp thump on his chest, clawing at his eyes with hooked fingers.

            _We’re free…. Free…. We’re free… may all you who hold dominion over earth bare your palms…_

            “Go!” Taeyong shouted, pushing Ten who had frozen in front of him. “Everyone, move!”

            And they began to run. Everyone began to run. It was chaos: bodies shoving bodies to get to who knows where. Safety was just a notion now, just wishful thinking. All around him, Taeyong could hear screaming. More rattling gunshots and commands barked over speakerphone.

            And behind them, the soldiers finally pried the possessed woman off of the young officer, her chest punctured and bleeding, a wild smile plastered over her face, even as her body began to seize and jerk.

            _Kill this body. Kill it. It is only meat._   It hissed like a viper, and the officer raised a quivering gun to its temple. Not once in all their years of training had they been taught to deal with the paranormal. It didn’t seem possible.

            And then suddenly, whatever had entered the woman left her body, in search of another intact one. The evil left her eyes, and she returned to her senses, her grievous injuries making her cry out like a wounded dog. And when she finally opened her eyes, she saw a barrel of a gun pointed directly at her face, the soldier holding it shivering as if he’d seen a ghost.

            “Possessed…” He whispered suddenly. “You’re possessed. A devil thing.”

            The woman shook her head, raising her bloody hands into the air to signify her surrender. She was confused and in pain. She didn’t remember how she’d ended up so close to the line of soldiers. She couldn’t recall anything at all.

            “I’m n-not possessed. I’ve been shot, please help me…” She gasped, her body convulsing from blood loss. But the young soldier was not listening. He was muttering the lords prayer, preparing to press the trigger.

            “I’m not possessed!” She cried. “I’m not! I’m not! I’m n-not pos—”

            Another gunshot rang out into the air, but Taeyong didn’t have the heart to look back. He couldn’t bear to look at anymore death. His head was still reeling from their manager. His head reeling from the soldiers opening fire on the civilians. Everyone’s feet thundered around him. He heard Winwin beginning to sniffle beside him, but there was no time for comfort now. Only survival.

            The gunfire was getting more regular now, and Taeyong could hear the announcements loud and blaring from the military speakers.

**Return to your homes and await further orders. Anyone still on the street will be presumed possessed and will be shot on sight.**

            “We’ve lost the others!” Jaehyun suddenly shouted, stopping Taeyong in his tracks. People were still running madly all around them, battering their bodies. Johnny, Doyoung, Kun, Jaemin, Donghyuk, and Taeil were not with them anymore.

            It was as if ice was spreading all throughout his body. He’d been so determined to keep them all together, but he’d lost half of them. Mark was looking wildly behind his shoulder, no doubt worried about the two youngest members who had disappeared without a trace.

            “What do we do?” Ten gasped as more people surged by. It would be nearly impossible to run back into the crush of people trying to escape the town center.

            In the distance, Taeyong swore he saw Johnny’s tall figure being pushed in the opposite direction, the other missing members no doubt close beside him. Taeyong followed his trail until the crowd swallowed him.

            And they were separated. 

 

~

Day 365

~

 

            When the seal first broke and the underworld clamped down with its serrated teeth, Mark had just turned seventeen. He’d spent the days following his birthday watching the world collapse under a tidal wave of horror he’d never believed possible. Mark had never been superstitious, or religious. But  now there was nothing he couldn’t believe.

            It had been 365 days since the sun went down and never came up. 365 days since he and the others had been separated from half of their bandmates. 365 days since the government walls went up, barricading half of Seoul in safety while leaving the more desolate half to the mercy of the evil that now made home of it.

            Mark groaned rolling into sitting position on the bed. His whole body aching from having sparred with Taeyong so long the night before. It was a familiar ache, a similar burn to dancing a demanding choreography. When Mark thought back to just one year ago, he almost couldn’t believe the life he once lived, however briefly. That boy that sang and danced on stage, who laughed and joked around in front of a camera for thousands of people to see. Was that really him? It felt a million years had passed since then. And now his most visceral memories were of blood and bodies, monsters that not even his childhood self could have imagined possible. Pentagrams and ashes. Crosses and salt. It was as if his previous life had been a dream.

            “Kids, are you awake?” A gentle voice came from outside the door. Taeyong. Mark grunted in affirmation before getting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Beyond the window, it was as dark as ever. Without the sun to nudge awake his internal clock, Mark found that he was always tired, no matter how much he slept. It was just another casualty of the eternal night. One of many.

            Mark stepped lightly off his bed, accidentally kicking some of the salt ring out of formation. He cursed and bent to close off the circle, stepping over it to get to the restroom. Like everyone else, they had pushed their beds to the center of the room, a wide circle of salt around it. Salt was only able to repel certain demons, and only for so long. But they could use all the precautions they could get.

           His room was a small one, but Mark could hardly complain. After the first chaotic night after the seal to the underworld broke, there had been unbelievable chaos. They hadn’t been able to make it back to the SM dorms, and had taken refuge in the first abandoned house they could find. That night, the rampant demon possessions caused friends to turn on friends, family to turn on family. It was mass hysteria the whole world over. The streets ran slick with blood and inevitably as the weeks passed, the government also began to turn its back on its people. First the church absorbed the government, then church sanctioned walls went up around the one-month point, splitting Seoul into two halves. On one side was the church governed side, a supposed holy safe zone. On the other, where Mark, Taeyong and his other groupmates had been trapped, was a veritable anarchy absolutely crawling with demons and crime. The church did not extend a helping hand to them. They had their hands full with keeping their side of the city pristine. And what exactly life was like on the other side, Mark didn’t know. No one had been able to go in or out since the walls were erected. And there was hardly, if any information exchanged between the two sides. It had been long since all radio and television transmission had been cut. And the resentment was only mounting.

           Mark was sure of one thing though: the other bandmates, the ones they had been separated from a year ago were probably stuck in the holy sector. Otherwise they would have found each other by now. That is, if they were still alive. Mark didn’t know. He could only wonder. He could only yearn. He still dreamt of their faces often: Jeno, Johnny, Jaemin, Doyoung, Donghyuk, Taeil and Kun. They paraded his mind throughout the day unbidden. One moment, Mark would feel fine. And then suddenly the unyielding possibility that they had died would cross his thoughts and he would be practically crippled in grief. It was worse not knowing. His family back in Canada, Mark was sure had passed, and so he’d been able to mourn and move on. But his other members, he had no idea, so he could not put down that grief. He could only carry it.

             “Good morning!” Ten called from the living room as Mark stumbled out. Despite every impossibly horrid thing that had happened in the last year, Ten was remarkably still capable of brightness. He and Winwin were the only ones who still consistently smiled and joked around. For that small reservoir of joy, Mark was eternally grateful.

            “Shush, I don’t even remember what morning looks like.” Mark tried to jest as he sat at the table.  Winwin pushed a cup of coffee towards them and Mark drank gratefully. It was bitter and astringent on his tongue, jolting him to his senses. Before the seal had broken, when he was still an idol, he never drank coffee, afraid it would stunt his growth. It all seemed so vapid and far away now. He drank every drop of caffeine he could get. He desperately needed the fuel.

            Mark took a giant swig before setting the cup down on a makeshift coaster. It was a copy of “Protect and Survive”, a government circulated pamphlet on how to protect oneself from demons. It was circulated to every civilian only a few short months before the church absorbed the democracy, effectively toppling the government. The pamphlet was very much useless now. It didn’t say anything anyone didn’t know. Now he and his friends just used it as a kitchen mat. Its off white cover was ringed and undulated with condensation circles and coffee stains.

            Taeyong and Jaehyun joined them in the kitchen. In the past year, Jaehyun had lost any of his last traces of baby fat from his cheeks. He now had the hollowed, dangerous beauty of a wildcat. Except when he smiled. When he smiled, he still looked like sunshine. But he didn’t smile very often anymore.

            As motherly as ever, Taeyong ladled a few bowls of rice porridge and set it in front of the members. They’d had this same bland meal for the last week: just boiled down rice with a splash of soy sauce, but grains were the cheapest staple food they could get at the black market. They had to be frugal.

            The group ate in silence for a while. Mark knew that they would soon all fall into their own routines. Taeyong would head out to the black market to pick up more provisions. Ten and Winwin would go to fruitlessly look for information on what happened to the other members, and Jaehyun would leave the house to go who knows where. For the past few months, he’d been leaving the house every day to a location he wouldn’t disclose to anyone. When he came back home, he would have a pouch-full of money, and sometimes bags of rare and expensive candies or fruits to give to the others. The members had asked him where he went to get these things, but he never gave an answer, so they’d given up trying to find out.

            As usual, Jaehyun finished eating first. He excused himself and stood to leave, hanging a cross necklace around his throat, strapping some knives to his belt and filling his pockets with salt. Taeyong watched him as he walked out the door with his peripheral vision, but said nothing. It bothered him that Jaehyun had become so secretive in the past few months. It was utterly unlike his former candor and brightness. But Taeyong knew it was unreasonable to expect him or anyone to go through their predicament unscathed. Hell, they’d basically lived through an apocalypse. They were still living it. Besides, Taeyong knew his mannerisms also had changed. He’d always been reserved and pessimistic, and he was even more so now. If Jaehyun decided to keep secrets from them, he had to trust that it was for good reason.

            A mere moment after Jaehyun stepped out into the night, Hansol and Yuta returned home. Winwin’s entire face lit up as Yuta stepped in, waving wildly for the pair to sit down at the table. Yuta and Hansol unstrapped their weapons and sat down with a groan, digging in half heartedly into the food Taeyong gave them.

            “How did everything go?” Taeyong asked, pushing his dark bangs out of his eyes. He would need to persuade one of the members to cut his hair soon.

            Yuta spoke between small mouthfuls. “We had just enough money to pay tithe to the different cults to leave us alone for this month. There’s also word on the street that another person successfully sold himself to a demon, so we’ll have to be wary of him in the future.”

            Mark cursed under his breath. In their section of the city in which the church extended no protection, different cult sects warred for control. When the seal first broke and cults began to emerge, civilians joined them, not out of loyalty, but for the protection they could provide from the lower level ghosts and demons that roamed the streets. But at some point, the followers had become maniacal in their devotion towards their sects. They would kill for their sect. They would die for their sect. It was worse than any patriotism. It frightened Mark.

             The cults that vied for control in their section of the city were the sect of the demon Orobas and the sect of demon Baal. Their clashes were brutal and left waves of destruction in their wake. Civilians who did not want to join any cults were forced to pay tithe each month to each sect, but even this monthly payment didn’t necessarily protect them from getting caught in the cross fires.  Mark could only assume this was what it must feel like to be in a civil war torn country.

              Cults were headed by leaders, colloquially known as “the sold”. These leaders were individuals that had struck up a deal with a demon in exchange for immense power. But these deals came with a great price: The summoner needed to make a grisly human sacrifice, and half of the summoner’s life span would subsequently be allocated to the demon. Even so, there was no guarantee that the coupling would be successful. If the called upon demon deemed the summoner unworthy, he would kill them on the spot and return to rest in the underworld for a more worthwhile host. It wasn’t so uncommon to find the pulped remains of a cultist lying on the concrete, surrounded by candles and other human bodies: the scene of a failed summoning. A massacre.

              “Shit. Someone succeeded in selling themselves? This is going to be a problem. The sect of Orobas and Baal aren’t going to be very happy.” Ten said, his brow knitted.

              “Not to mention, this means just another cult to pay tithe to each month. We’re already stretched so thin financially as it is.” Taeyong said.

             “I don’t think we need to worry about it too much yet. He hasn’t amassed any followers, so he’s more of a target than a threat. Besides, rumor has it that he got unlucky with the demon he summoned. He was hoping for Lucifer, but he ended up selling himself to Vassago.” Hansol said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. His cup was heavy with grounds that he dredged out with the flat side of a fork.

            Ten picked up their copy of the Ars Goetia, a book on demonology from the 17th century. The book used to be considered folk-lore. It was only in the last year that the world learned that everything written in the book was truer than salt. Ten flipped through to the page that described the demon Vassago, and then promptly burst into wild laughter.

              “What?” Mark asked, not really seeing how this could possibly be humerous. Whether or not it was the demon that summoner had wanted, someone still had to be sacrificed for it. An innocent life had been snuffed out.

               Ten took a breath and read: “The demon Vassago can tell the conjurer of past and future events, and has the power of inciting the love of women and locating lost objects. Just and true in all things, he is the prince of good nature…”

               Ten slammed the book shut and fell into laughter again, his delicate face lighted up in mirth. Despite everything, it felt good to see him laugh, and everyone joined him. Even Taeyong chuckled into his coffee cup.

            “Poor bastard sold half of his soul with the ambition to be powerful, and he ends up coupling with a demon of good will! What rotten luck! The demon probably won’t even let him harm others from now on. He probably won’t amass many followers.” Ten said. Then a flash of darkness flickered across his features. “He got what he deserved.”

            Everyone quieted down, thinking immediately of the poor innocent person who had been murdered to bring Vassago up from the Underworld. Sacrifice wasn’t a peaceful way to go. Not at all.

            Yuta cleared his throat and quickly dug into his bag, wanting to dispel the suddenly gloomy atmosphere.

            “Mark… I hope you don’t think we forgot your birthday.” He pulled out an old record, passing it to the younger. “It’s a Lauryn Hill CD Hansol and I found at the black market. I don’t know if you’ve listened to her, but I know you do like R&B so…”

            Mark accepted it thankfully, jumping up and receiving it with two hands.

            “Thank you!” He exclaimed. Truthfully, he had forgotten it was his birthday. There just didn’t seem to be any reason to celebrate, except to marvel at having survived a whole year.

            Taeyong got up and shuffled in one of the cupboards, bringing out a small box of chocolates, and everyone was congratulating him, embracing him. This time last year, Mark had been blowing out the candles of a cake with his members in front of a large audience of their fans. Now everything had changed, but at least there was one constant. His members were still by his side. They still took care of each other. And suddenly he was eighteen. Not a child any longer.

            “You’re a man now. How does it feel?” Hansol asked teasingly as Yuta turned on the record player in the corner. The room was suddenly filling with piano and the singer’s velvety voice:

_Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come? Why should my heart feel lonely and long for heaven and home?_

            How long had it been since they’d listened to music? The beauty of the frayed record player swelled in Mark’s ears. He felt tears fighting to well in his eyes, though he fought it down. He was eighteen now. He had to be strong like his hyungs.

           “Thank you everyone.” Mark muttered, and then it was as if he couldn’t stop. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

            Ten draped his arms around his back. “We admire your strength. We love you, kid.”

            Mark basked in the familiarity of all of their smiles, snapshots of memories flashing through his mind bit by bit. He remembered late night conversations, meals shared over kerosene flames, sneaked sips of soju, plane rides, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a spark of happiness. He only wished Johnny and the others were here. If he only knew what had happened to their other bandmates, Mark would never ask for more.

             Outside a sudden banging jerked everyone out of their lightheartedness.

             “What was that?” Winwin asked.

             “It just sounded like a car backfiring. It’s okay” Hansol said.

             “Oh, we forgot to mention that the pentagram outside on the wall is kind of wearing down.” Yuta said over the smooth piano music. “We need to replenish it soon.”

              Mark stood. “It’s my turn. I’ll go now.” He said, grabbing a knife from the table.

              Taeyong stepped in front of him before he could make it to the door.

              “No you don’t.” He said, plucking the knife from the younger boy’s hand.

             “What do you mean? It’s my turn.”

               Taeyong shook his head with a small smile. “It’s your birthday, so leave it to me.”

              Mark followed Taeyong outside, protesting, but he already knew it was hopeless to argue with Taeyong over this. The night streets were empty and cold. Without the sun, the seasons also seemed to have frozen into eternal Autumn. The trees were bare and claw-like.

“Hyung, you really don’t have to.” Mark tried one last time as they looked at the wall.

             “I want to.” Taeyong replied. There was a large red pentagram drawn on the brick. Like salt rings, it was a form of protection from keeping most low level demons and ghosts from entering their premise. Taeyong placed the knife against his palm, and without even flinching, pressed down until the skin broke and red began to well up around the silver of the blade. Then he swiped it across. His palm immediately began to drip heavily, and Mark felt his heart constrict. He hated that Taeyong was doing this for him.

              Taeyong pressed his bloodied palm across the brick, using his own hand as an inkwell as he traced over the fading lines of blood. It had been Hansol who had done this last. Everyone took turns redrawing the pentagrams. Now everyone’s palms were scarred and calloused for the sheer amount of times they cut into them. But this was a small price to pay.  A very small price. It was better than risking any of the members getting possessed, even if it is was by a weak willed ghost.

                Mark bit his tongue, refusing to leave Taeyong’s side until the Pentagram had been replenished, the pores of the brick wall absorbing blood like something hungry. The moon was half-full overhead like a bright egg. From inside the house, they could still hear the music, the soft voice crooning of faith as their palms bled:

_I sing because I'm happy_

_I sing because I'm free_

_His eye is on the sparrow_

_And I know he watches me_


	4. Day 365- Vespertine

~

Day 365

~

 

            The bodies had been strung up in the trees surrounding the junkyard for at least a week. Mark could barely recognize them for the animal they were: goats, halved and quartered and hung up on the branches of the killing tree like Christmas ornaments. The flies buzzed around the shucked sockets, its skin sagged from the cheeks, sinew and connective tissue eaten away by insects and animal. The legs were gone, claimed probably by a bobcat. Overhead, the carrion birds were circling, blotting out the bulb of the moon. Mark knew that the goats had been slaughtered here to lure away the carnivorous scavengers away from the city center. After everything collapsed and pest control ceased, the city had begun to teem with wild cats and feral dogs, they first attacked house pets, then people for food. It was safer to goad them towards the city outskirts with the promise of spoiled meat, so every few weeks the citizens would slaughter some livestock and string them up along the city peripherals.

            Taeyong gagged a little at the sour smell of rot and turned away, toying with the pentagram necklace hanging on his neck. They had to work quickly lest a bobcat or wild dog was lured by the smell of dead goat and found them instead. With agile feet, he jumped over the rusting husks or cars before he settled on one that still was intact enough. After day zero, cars had become more or less defunct. Most people could no longer afford gasoline, so only the very well off still had vehicles. To cobble together a living, Taeyong gathered scrap metal and sold it at the black markets for a few coins a piece. Much too little considering the risk of making the trek out to the junkyard (his back was deeply scarred with claw marks from his most recent run-in with a bobcat), but it was enough to buy them food and salt. He brought Yuta and Hansol the rest of the car parts and scrap metal so they could fashion weapons. Over the months, they had gotten quite good at melting the metal down and turning it into something useful.

            “Hand me the torch saw.” Taeyong called out to Mark, and the younger placed the torch in his cut hand. He winced. His palm had just stopped bleeding from replenishing the pentagram on their wall this morning. Ten had wrapped it up tightly with antibacterial balm and gauze, but it still hurt like hell. The callouses would form there soon enough though, building thick landscapes of dead skin on his palm, right before he cut into it again. There had been a time where he’d had pretty, supple hands. That time was long gone. His livelihood no longer depended on beauty. It depended on grit.

            Bracing himself for the heat, Taeyong turned on the torch, the blazing blue flame biting into the metal of the car bumper with ease. The air filled with burning fumes as the metal melted. Taeyong worked around the bumper of the car until it fell off with a clang to the ground. Then he cut them into rough fourths so Mark could fit the scraps into his canvas bag. They worked like this for a few hours, sweat beading along their back, their surroundings illuminated only by the moon and a single flickering streetlamp. As he worked, Taeyong was struck with a violent wonder about their lives, how quickly they had adjusted to a hellscape though they thought they never would. On day zero when the seal of the underworld first broke, the mere thought of survival had seemed an improbable feat. But here they were, all alive. Functioning. Cobbling together a living.

            Everyone had eventually fallen into work, a distorted reflection of their previous lives. While Taeyong and Mark scavenged for scrap metals and Yuta and Hansol forged weapons and other knick knacks. Winwin and Ten foraged for edible weeds and hunted small game to sell at the black markets. Jaehyun also brought money home. More money than everyone else combined, though how he earned it and what he did during those hour long stretches of time he was gone, Taeyong couldn’t fathom.  Out of everyone, the destruction had affected Jaehyun the most. It had caused him to become secretive: a trait he never had before. Taeyong couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t bear being locked out.

            “Hyung, the bag is getting quite heavy now. I think we can head back.” Mark said, throwing the canvas behind his back with a grunt. Taeyong nodded, using a plank to hoist himself up and over the line of cars and onto the dirt.

            “Do you want me to carry it?” Taeyong offered, but Mark shook his head furiously. Taeyong’s back had been weak ever since they were trainees at SM, and it had only gotten progressively worse.

            “I can manage.” He said, and the two trudged along, barely able to see more than a few feet ahead of them in the darkness. They were getting closer to the copse of trees laden with goat pieces and Mark thought he heard a wet sound and a crunch somewhere to his left. Dismissing it, he took another step, but suddenly Taeyong was pulling him back.

            “Wh—” Mark began to ask, but Taeyong held a finger to his lip, silencing him.  His hyung’s eyes were staring straight ahead, his pupils larger and blacker than normal. Nervous.

            Mark followed his line of sight, and he saw it: a huge bobcat taut on its haunches underneath the killing trees. It had the spoiling ribcage of a goat clamped underneath its massive paws, its snout matted with blood and skin.

            “Walk slowly, and don’t make eye contact with it.” Taeyong said, weaving his fingers with Mark and inching his way across the junkyard. Mark swallowed hard, trying his best to keep his eyes down at his feet, but his mind ached to keep his vision on the beast. It was almost more nerve wracking not to see it. What if it snuck up behind them? What if it was gone already?

            The two had nearly passed the killing trees, when a snap drew Mark’s eyes up, locking with two reflective green orbs. Then suddenly the animal was upon them, its massive body crashing into Taeyong and sending him sprawling on his back. And oh god, Mark was frozen. He saw Taeyong going down under the weight of the huge animal, but he couldn’t couldn’t move to intervene. Taeyong was quick, pulling out his machete and swiping it across the animal’s left eye before it could clamp down on his throat with its wicked teeth, but there was no way he would be able to fight it off. Not when he was already on the ground, his spine shooting up and down in pain from the fall. The bobcat swung its gigantic paws and caught Taeyong across his collarbone, opening up horrid gashes. He let out a strangled gasp backing away and pressing a palm against the wound. The bobcat hung back a little, circling with a maddened look in its eyes, and Taeyong suddenly understood that it was hungry, the ribs standing out like ravines in its sides. Cats didn’t eat spoiled meat unless they were desperate.

            It lunged again, but this time Mark was ready. He pulled out the torch from the canvas bag, clicking the lever and releasing a plume of blue fire just as the bobcat drew closer. The animal let out a wild whimper as the fire singed its face, not enough to blind it, but just enough for the fur to blacken and smoke. It turned tail and ran into the line of trees, and Mark was suddenly being grabbed and pulled. Taeyong had clasped his wrist and was running with him so fast he feared they may set fire to the brush, past the junkyard, past the trees with the animal corpses. Their lungs burned, but they didn’t stop. By the time they reached the first buildings of the city, they were desperate for breath. Mark collapsed against the wall, his eyes burning from the salt of sweat, his chest heaving.

            “Are you okay?” Taeyong gasped, holding Marks face between his calloused hands. “Are you hurt?”

           Taeyong asked this while his own collar was shredded and bleeding, a bit of bone visible under the lamplight. Mark shook his head.

           “Thank god.” Taeyong breathed, pulling Mark against his wounded chest, bloodying his cheek from the embrace.

_Thank God._

_~_

            Taeyong swirled the wormwood wine in the cup, its medicinal fumes stinging his nose pleasantly. To make some extra money, Ten made and bottled liquor to sell at the markets, but often they just ended up imbibing it themselves.

            Mark was in the kitchen stewing up some wild rabbits with Ten while Winwin dabbed Taeyong’s split collar with a cotton ball doused in liquor. The flesh would mend soon enough, but there was nothing he could do about the chipped bone.

            “Does it hurt?” Winwin asked when Taeyong winced.

            “Yes.” He answered honestly. “But the liquor helps.”

            He downed his cup and Winwin immediately refilled it.

            “What rotten luck that the killing trees are always set up near the old car junkyard.” Winwin said, discarding the bloody cotton swath and dabbing some peppermint ointment along Taeyong’s wound.

            “It’s actually a good thing. At least it gives us an exclusive source of revenue since I’m one of the only people crazy enough to risk run ins with wild animals to get scrap metals.” Taeyong said.

            Winwin smiled. “Yes, you are very crazy.”

             Winwin’s Korean had improved so much, Taeyong couldn’t help but smile. He remembered when Winwin had first arrived in Korea, he had barely known how to string together a sentence. Now he was well on his way to fluent, his accent the only giveaway that he was foreign. Taeyong often wondered if Winwin was terribly homesick. He must have been. Though China today was certainly not the one he held in his memory, though it, like every other nation in the world, had fallen into chaos, he would still be with his family.

            Winwin finished wrapping gauze around the wound and Taeyong passed his cup to him. The younger man took it, drinking deeply until his cheeks flushed.

            “Were you two able to find any information on our other members?” Taeyong asked. Yuta and Hansol had come out from their room to help set up in the kitchen, and the house was soon filling with the delicious smell of game meat.

            “No.” Winwin looked at his hands, his voice disappointed. “But we did hear some interesting rumors.”

            Taeyong leaned in, curious.   

            “There was a rumor going around the city today that there are talks in the Holy Sector about opening up the border for one day every month so families and friends that had been separated when the wall went up can briefly reunite.”

            Taeyong gasped, immediately reminded of how before the seal broke, North and South Korea used to have a day when families separated by the border were allowed to reunite for 24 hours before being carted back to their respective countries.

            “That’s excellent.” Taeyong breathed. If their other friends were alive, they were most certainly in the holy sector. Otherwise they would have come across each other by now. “If the holy sector really does open up their borders, even if it’s only for 24 hours..”

            “We can see our friends again. We can make sure they are okay.” Winwin said, undoubtedly thinking about Kun.

            For the first time in a long time, Taeyong’s heart soared in glee. He was certain, absolutely certain that Johnny had managed to protect everyone. They must be alive, safely in the holy sector. Honestly, they were probably much better off in the Holy Sector than their own anarchic, cult ruled section of town. And if the rumors were true, they might finally be able to see each other again, even if for just a moment. Taeyong wanted to cup everyone’s faces in his hands: Johnny, Doyoung, Jaemin…. All of them. He wanted to tell them how they’d never left his mind for the full year that they had been separated. How he loved them like a parched animals loves salt.

            “Supper!” Mark said as he walked towards them. “Hyung! Come eat.”

            Winwin bounded up and towards the table immediately, but Taeyong lingered. Mark placed a hand on his hyung’s back, looking down at him. If there were tears, he pretended not to notice.

 

~~

 

            Jaehyun returned well after everyone else had gone to bed. Taeyong heard the front door click, and got up from the couch: tipsy from wormwood liquor.

            “Welcome home. There’s some rabbit stew in the kitchen for you.” He said as Jaehyun staggered in, his tall, long limbed frame somehow frail looking in the darkness.

            “I’m not hungry.” He said, his voice gravelly. Taeyong felt his heart constrict. Jaehyun used to have such a voracious appetite. Now it was a battle to get him to eat just two meals a day.

            “You have to eat.” Taeyong said, stepping closer. Jaehyun’s handsome face looked carved in the lamplight, statuesque but with deep dark circles saturating his under-eyes.

            “I’m tired. I’ll eat tomorrow.” Jaehyun said, pulling off his jacket and brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. He tried to walk towards his room, but Taeyong blocked his path.

            “Where have you been going for the past few months?” Taeyong asked, his eyes sharp and determined. “You’ve been acting strangely. What have you been doing?”

            Jaehyun pulled a satchel of coins out of his pocket, tossing it on the table.

            “Making money.” He said simply, his voice coarse but protective. His walls were up. Taeyong could already tell he would not be able to tear them down tonight.

            Jaehyun dug around in his bag some more, unearthing salt, pentagrams, knives, and finally a small bag of pomegranate. Ever since the sun had disappeared, fruit of any kind was an expensive rarity. Grown in tiny batches under lamps that simulated sunlight, they were worth more than precious jewels.

            “Here. Share these with the others tomorrow.” Jaehyun said as he tried to walk around Taeyong once more. The older man’s hands were as quick as a viper, they reached out, grabbed a fistful of Jaehyun’s shirt collar, pulled it down below the line of his sternum. Jaehyun gasped, shoving his hyung’s hands away, but not before Taeyong saw it: the blood red bloomings that riddled the skin of his chest: teeth marks. Bruises.

            “What—” He began, but Jaehyun was already gone, his bedroom door closing with an infuriated slam.

            Taeyong was alone, a net of pomegranates hanging loosely from his fingertips. Outside, someone was screaming. 


	5. Day 378

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER LIKE IVE NEVER TRIGGER WARNINGED BEFORE. Seriously, this chapter has some dark depictions of sexual coercion (though it isn't graphic, it's definitely not skirted around.) There are also some moments towards the end that may be offending to people who are very religious. Keep in mind, I'm not trying to discredit anyone's beliefs, this is merely a post-apocalypse story in which everyone is acting 50 shades of messed up.
> 
> This story is quickly becoming more and more dark, I've never written anything to this extent of fucked up, and I just wanted to give everyone a fair trigger warning. With that said, I do hope that you enjoy the chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts or feedback.

~~~~

 

**Excerpt from “Protect and Survive”, the first official pamphlet on the demon outbreak put forth by the South Korean department of Homeland Security.**

Succubus (female) and Incubus (male) are Lilin-demons that lie with humans to feed on their life force. Intercourse with a demon of this class can lead to deterioration of health, and sometimes death. These Lilin demons manifest as men and women of intense, impossible beauty... though insidious and cunning in nature, they will rarely renege on a promise. Approach with caution.

 

~~

Day 378

~~

 

            Jaehyun was dreaming. It was morning, the chipped knife of sunlight cutting across his eyes. He blinked to throw off the rays, and he could see his mother in the distance, surrounded by wild flowers. She was calling out to him, but soundlessly as if he were trapped behind some encasement of glass. The snapdragon and dandelion swayed their colors around the hem of her skirt as she walked towards him, still speaking wordlessly, reaching out her hand to touch his face and then the soft light of the day suddenly warped to glaring stage lamps. Everywhere sound, everywhere cheering. He looked down at his body and he was clad in leather and heavy necklaces, sweat in his eyes. He felt the sticky sheen of makeup on his face. Before him, a screaming crowd of fans, beside him, Yuta, Taeyong and the others. But he was frozen to the spot. He knew he was supposed to be performing, but he couldn’t, couldn’t uproot his feet from the floor. All around him, the cheering seemed to flex into one collective wail of fear. He wanted to wake up, but his body wouldn’t rouse itself, paralyzed; the sweat plastering his spine to the ground.

            And then hands

                        And then hands.

And then orchids breaking open..

            Jaehyun gasped as his hair was suddenly tugged violently back, jerking him awake from the dreams of the past he almost couldn’t believe had once been real. The candlelight flooded his vision in a wash gold, but all he could taste was crimson. He swallowed hard around a mouthful of blood, his whole body aflame with aching. His eyes adjusted quickly to the new light. He could see the ceiling, the carved undulations of the decor. The marble floor felt warm on his back, his whole body felt sticky with perspiration. The air was damp with it. And then a face loomed into his vision, the lupine smile of a predator that had cornered its meat. The incubus leaned close enough that Jaehyun could smell his breath, oddly floral, and see the flecks of maroon in his pupils. Like any other incubus, this one was breathtakingly beautiful. So beautiful in fact, that it was off-putting, it hurt to look too long upon its face. Jaehyun supposed that some people fell for this devastating loveliness. He supposed some came willingly and left without payment, happy to have been touched at all. But he did not. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

            “Who said you can check out?” The incubus asked in a dangerous hiss, untangling his fist from Jaehyun’s hair, and tracing a light trail down Jaehyun’s jugular, following the line of his collarbone to the boney divot of his chest. “Poor human, you lack endurance.” The touch made him shiver, but only from dread. All around him, he heard moaning. The distant sound of flesh upon flesh. How long had he been here? Hours. It must have been.

            “Can I have him tonight?” a familiar voice asked, and Jaehyun turned towards it. A lovely black haired succubus was kneeling besides them, the curtain of her hair blocking out the candlelight. Jaehyun recognized her. She’d had him many times before.

            The incubus slowed his hand, appraising her with a lazy grin. In affirmation, he retreated, sitting propped up against the wall, but did not leave. His eyes were covetous. He would watch.

            The succubus uncorked a bottle of red wine, an expensive aged ambrosia that Jaehyun couldn’t help but wonder how much money it would fetch at the black market. She took a deep swig then propped his head up, holding the cup to his lips. He opened, and the wine spilled down his throat. His eyes watered for how good it was: bitter, oaky, and tasting vaguely like tobacco. He drank and drank, it was always better if he was blitzed. If he couldn’t remember. And then the cup was gone, replaced with her lips hungrily pressing against his. She tasted like sandalwood, but also metallic; a hint of blood.

            “You possess such beauty, young mortal. Mankind if ugly, but at a glance, I may have mistaken you for one of us.” She said as she pulled away. Her eyes were so ravenous, her beauty a little frightening. When things had still been normal, Jaehyun may have dreamed for the attention of such a beautiful girl. Now all he wanted to do was look away.

            Her hand trailed down his torso, lingered, then reached lower and he was writhing in her hand; his back arching despite himself. Someone was muttering their approval, and he closed his eyes. Humiliated, angry. He remembered the first time he’d come to the den of the succubus and incubus demons. His beauty had caught one of their eyes, and they propositioned him: his body as collateral. His body in exchange for money, food, but most of all favors.

            _In a time of dire need, you can call on us for assistance. This will be our exchange._

            Sometimes the female succubus’ had him. Sometimes the male incubus’. His first night, he had bled like a woman and bit himself to keep from whimpering in pain, but how could Jaehyun possibly refuse the offer of alliance? If something were to happen to one his friends, there had to be a backup plan. He needed to make sure he could help them. The faces of each of his friends stormed through his head in a litany of memory. He needed to be able to protect them. Even if the price was this high.

            The succubus lowered herself onto him with a roll of her spine, and Jaehyun’s thoughts ruptured under the grind of her hips. There was no part of his body that wasn’t sore and bruised, but his breath still hitched. Any pleasure he felt was only perfunctory because there was also pain. The deep, inexplicable ache of the spirit that came with coupling with a demon of this type.

            “Relax, human.” The succubus whispered in his ear, pressing a palm to his throat so he could no longer draw breath. Stars scattered across his vision as her nails dug into his skin.  He felt like he was shattering beneath her.

            _You are not here._ Jaehyun thought to himself, trying to imagine himself elsewhere. _You are not here._

            He envisioned where he wanted to be, away from the demons, away from the wine and split fruit. Away from the monster undulating on top of him. He dared to yearn, and suddenly all he could see was Taeyong; smiling, opening his arms.

            When all was said and done, the succubus unfurled from his body in search of another to impinge upon. The Incubus dropped a pouch of money and a bag of apples into Jaehyun’s waiting palm, his red eyes glinting in the lamplight.

            “Do you enjoy apples?” He asked in a manner that sounded almost friendly.

            Barely listening, Jaehyun nodded dully, just happy to be clothed again.

            The incubus smiled his horrifically beautiful smile, plucking one out of the bag and splitting it in half. The juice ran down the valley of his palms, and he licked it away, eyeing the bruises that marred Jaehyun’s throat and collar.

            “How fitting that man would like the fruit of sin.”

 

~~

Holy Sector- Day 378

~~

 

            The organ music swelled throughout the church, but it was not beautiful. Jaemin could barely hold back the cringe, the pitch of the music too loud, too desperate. Sitting in the pews all around him were the citizens of the Holy sector, staring dead eyed at the spectacle before them.  The clergy stood at the stage, waving until the choir ceased their singing and the music died down into silence.

            _Let us begin with prayer._ The reverend said, and everyone in the pews bowed their heads. Jaemin did as well, daring to sneak a quick glance around him. To his right was Johnny, to his left was Kun. He knew that everyone else must be somewhere nearby, and Taeil had been forced to participate in the choir, his civic duty. Jaemin could barely make out his petite frame on the stage, looking ethereal in the choir robes, his hair a halo of chestnut brown.

            It had been more than a year since the eternal night fell and the church had overtaken the role of government and overseer. Life in the holy sector trudged on like this: Wake, sermon, work, sleep. Wake, sermon, work, sleep. The church liked to purport that in their sector, all man was equal: the same meager rations of grain and salt, the same allocation of holy sector notes to spend on everyday needs. But this couldn’t possibly be true. His eyes weren’t lying to him, the clergy had held on to the meat of their bones, but the ribs of the citizens were beginning to jut out of their skin.

          Jaemin had no idea what life was like on the outside, though the reverends told everyone often enough that it was a parade of endless horrors, monsters lurking everywhere, violence punctuating every single night with rose buds of blood. But at times, Jaemin could not tell how that was different from his life in the Holy Sector. There were monsters here too. But instead of red eyes and horns, here they sported clerical robes, crosses. Jaemin was no fool, he knew certain reverends offered attractive boys and girls extra rations of food to come visit their quarters at night. Jaemin knew, because he had once been solicited; may have gone if it had not been for Johnny and his other hyungs throwing a rage that paralyzed him to the point of speechlessness. Doyoung had knelt before him that night, holding onto his shoulders, his voice thick with unshed tears repeating: _Don’t you ever even say that again. Don’t you ever, ever even consider going there, I’d sooner starve._

          So Jaemin never again entertained the thought, no matter how hungry he and his friends were. When he felt the eyes of certain reverends following his back on the streets, he kept his eyes low, pulled the hood of his white robe down over his eyes. Before the eternal night, Jaemin had been religious, but now he only barely made the motions. The church was not what it had once been. There was no benevolence left anymore. Only control, where the citizen was only meat and labor. This was life under a regime. This was fascism.

          The reverend finished his prayer, and everyone slowly lifted their heads as a young man was dragged onto the stage, his arms bound with gold silk. Jaemin felt himself going cold. Whenever someone who was not the clergy or choir was forced on stage, it was never a good thing. Often, this entailed a violent exorcism, though because of the heavy holy wards that guarded the sector, true possession was rare. Demons and ghosts very rarely were able to make it across the wall into the holy sector, so these public exorcisms were often just a way to punish a dissident, or anyone who went against the will of the church.

          Jaemin wanted to close his eyes, but couldn’t. He knew that refusal to watch would be seen as rebellion. The man was struggling against his bindings, his church sanctioned robes already muddy with blood. Jaemin heard Johnny gasp beside him, and he realized with a shock that he too recognized the man. He was one of the farmers in the sector that grew produce under lamps that simulated sunlight. He was a very friendly, amicable man who Jaemin and the others often spoke to at the markets. When the walls of the Holy Sector went up, he’d been separated from his wife and children. He’d confided secretly to them once that he planned on trying to make it across the wall, to the other side to reunite with his family. He was not the first to attempt escape by any means, but when he disappeared without a trace from his normal vendor at the markets, Jaemin and the others had assumed he’d successfully managed to escape. But here he was, bloodied and bound. He’d been caught. Jaemin knew what this meant. On stage, they could barely make out the form of Taeil standing amongst the choir, the horror carefully hidden underneath a mask of indifference, but Jaemin could see it clear as day.

          “This brother in faith has attempted to escape our holy borders to the menagerie of demons on the other side.” The reverend said, his voice booming over the pews; the hundreds of people in the crowd watching with varying levels of emotion. Some were devastated, frightened, but others were dead eyed, too used to the violence to be affected by it now. “We can only assume that he has been taken by evil if he wants to reunite with what resides outside these walls.”

          The man shook his head wildly, his voice tinged in horror. “It’s not what it seems. I’m not possessed!”

          The reverend continued on as if the man had not spoken at all.

          “We must do our duty as the right hand of God to dispel what has entered this man, amen”

          “I only wanted to see my family” The man pleaded, his eyes pin pricks of fear.

          The clergy began to recite the lord’s prayer, and the man continued his begging, unaffected by the prayers. This was proof enough that he was not possessed; that holy water and prayer did not make him bat an eye. But Jaemin knew that what the clergy was about to do had nothing to do with wanting to dispel evil. They knew he was not possessed. This was power play, a ploy to instill fear and obedience under threat of death.

           “If your words are true, and you have not been taken by the devil, you have nothing to fear. You soul will return to heaven and be reunited with the father. If you have nothing to hide, lamb, you will not fear this judgement.” The reverend walked closer, unsheathing an embellished knife from his robe sleeve. Demon possession always caused the blood drawn from the throat to run black like ink. He was going to test it now. He was going to slit the farmer’s throat.

           Jaemin couldn’t breathe. He felt the panic attack coming on like a rush of water in his lungs. He began to see double as the air dispelled from his body, a roaring opened up in his ears. He didn’t, didn’t want to watch this, lord, no.

         A hand suddenly tangled in his fingers. Jaemin snuck a glance towards Johnny, and the hyung gave his hand a firm squeeze. No words had to be exchanged for Jaemin to understand what he was saying: _Control yourself, or they may accuse you next._

          Jaemin gave a slight nod of understanding, trying hard to force himself to take a little gulps of air. Kun had also secretly reached over to hold his hand under their robes, and Jaemin was nothing but grateful. Their situation was awful. It was wretched but at least they weren’t alone.

          The reverend grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair, pulling it back to reveal the throat. Outside, Jaemin could hear the cicadas buzzing in the night. He tried not to imagine what the man had been thinking when he’d tried to run. He tried not to imagine how badly he must have missed his family in order for him to risk everything to try and reunite with them.

          The knife bit deep into his throat, sliding across as easily like through the meat of a ripe fruit. The blood that ran over the reverend’s hand was ruby red, not black. The man had not been possessed, of course not. No one was surprised.

         The reverend let go, letting the body fall with a thud across the pulpit, and then slide to the floor.

         “Our brother was pure, he has returned to paradise.” He said, no remorse in his voice. No guilt at all. Jaemin held on to his hyung’s hands like an anchor.

 _Amen._ Everyone said. _Amen._


	6. Day 385

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ONCE AGAIN, TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER, though much less so than the last chapter. This chapter was quite chill to write, but I'm excited for the next one because things are about to get very crazy xD . Thank you to everyone who reads/ comments. It's very motivating for me to write quickly and upload often, so thank you <3 <3

~~

Day 385- Holy Sector

~~

            As usual, dinner began with a prayer, the monotone affirmations of gratitude rising up and tangling with the church spires. Johnny folded his hands in his lap, blankly repeating the Reverend’s words, but at times he was not even sure what they were being forced to pray to. Sure, the prayers began with “Dear Lord…” but usually veered off just to praise the vigilance of the clergy, the way they protected the sector. In moments like this, God was just a figurehead.

            _Amen_

            Everyone in the dining hall picked up their spoons, digging into the meager serving of cornmeal and hard bread. Johnny quickly skimmed the dining hall for his friends. Doyoung and Kun were beside him, Taeil was made to sit with the choir, while Jaemin, Donghyuk and Jeno were in the corner with the youth group. Johnny tried to quell the rising paranoia that came every time they were forced to be apart. In all likelihood, nothing would happen to them, but Johnny couldn’t help but worry that every time he saw the members might be his last time. His mind wandered back to the very first night after the seal opened; he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to Taeyong and the others before they were quarantined. Now he didn’t even know if they were alive or dead.

            _No, they have to be alive. Because if they’re not, I can’t handle it. I can’t, I fucking can’t.._

            The moonlight streamed in through the stained glass windows, casting hues of red and green on the sea of white robes. Even the loose bulk of the robes could not hide the dangerously thin bodies underneath. Johnny knew that everyone was being fed just before the precipice of malnourishment. It was one of the ways the church maintained power of the citizens. They used food as leverage for everything. It wasn’t such an uncommon occurance in the Holy sector that someone’s own child would sell out their parents as dissidents in exchange for a few bags of rice.

            Johnny dared a quick glance at the clergy that sat at the large table at the head of the room. They were eating the same small bowls of cornmeal and bread as everyone else, but it was just for show. There was no way they ate such small portions but still kept on such a hefty weight. There were rumors that they had stashes of fine wine and rich foods that they shared only with people who offered them favors. Johnny felt his knuckles whiten as his eyes skimmed over Reverend Yoo, the sick bastard who had tried to solicit Jaemin in exchange for more food rations.

          Johnny had heard whispers about Reverend Yoo’s sick proclivities towards minors, his violent tendencies. He was not kind, and he was not gentle. Many of the desperately hungry youths that entered his chambers left battered and bruised. Just the thought that Jaemin had almost willingly walked into that situation made him want to scream and break things. In his idle moments, Johnny sometimes fantasized about hurting the reverend: kicking his ribs, stomping his head against the ground so his teeth loosened like piano keys. He would dream of this until his rational mind would jerk him out, and he would be horrified with himself. Before everything, Johnny had once been a pacifist. How quickly things changed. How drastically trauma had reshaped the fabric of his being.

           With a perfunctory bow, Johnny stood from the table to leave for their quarters. Kun and Doyoung were soon by his side as they left the dining hall and entered the crisp night air.

          “The rumors are true.” Doyoung said, breaking the silence. He wrapped his robe a little tighter to keep out the cold. “The church really is going open the border of the Holy Sector. They’ll do it on the first of every month for five hours at a time. They’ll give us an opportunity to reunite with our loved ones on the other side of the wall, even if it’s just for a brief stretch of time.”

          “That’s fantastic!” Kun said, his face lighting up with warmth. Somehow, despite all of the blatant injustices they were surrounded by, Kun still managed to maintain a childlike optimism. “We might see our friends again! Winwin, Yuta, everybody.”  His eyes were glossy with hope.

          “But why are they doing this?” Johnny wondered aloud, his distrust of the church not letting him simply be happy. “It’s not like them to be gracious. They punish people just for trying to cross the border, so why are they offering to open it now?”

          “Perhaps to give people less incentive to try and escape?” Doyoung posited. They were crossing the city center where men and women were tied to stakes, they thrashed against their bindings, their eyes wild and teeth gnashing. Though possession in the holy sector was uncommon, it was not entirely unheard of. Possessed individuals were often tied up in the city center and exorcized ruthlessly over the course of several days. In the morning they were doused with holy water that sizzled their skin, and in the evenings they were inundated with recitations of holy scripture that drew blood from their eyes and ears. Johnny figured that the church specifically chose to make a spectacle of these possessions in the city square to remind the citizens of what was rampant beyond the Holy Sector walls, why they should give thanks and be obedient.

          Most of the possessed people did not survive these exorcisms, their bodies often could not take the strain and simply perished, taking the ghost inside with them. One of the bound women that they passed seemed on the brink of death now, her skin paper white under the light of the moon.

          “Do you think things can really be any worse on the outside?” Doyoung whispered so only the three of them could hear. Those sorts of words alone were enough to be punished for.

          Johnny looked at his own scarred hands, the worn faces of his friends, then up towards the bodies strung up on the stakes for all to see.

           “It’s probably just a different kind of evil.”

 

~

 

            The streets were quiet as Jaehyun walked home from the Incubus den, a net of grapefruit hanging loosely. He felt a weak smile tug at the side of his lips as he thought of how happy Winwin and Ten would be at the sight of the fruit. It almost made what he’d gone through seem worth it. Almost.

Two cults had recently clashed in the area, and a few robed bodies littered the streets. Jaehyun stepped over the tangles of limbs and around the puddles of blood. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point he had become utterly immune to the sight of gore.

            With a tentative hand, Jaehyun reached to touch his cheek, hissing in pain as his fingers met raw flesh. Tonight had been worse than most. The demon had been ruthless, holding his face down against the concrete as he thrashed above him.

 _Are you in pain human? Do you hate me?_ The demon had asked afterwards, covering his battered body with a sheet as if he were a corpse in a morgue. Yes, Jaehyun hated all of the succubus and incubus and their roaming hands, but he didn’t hate them any more than he hated other people. At least the demons never feigned benevolence, that was more than what he could say about the cultists that pretended to be righteous.

 _Remember that you’re putting your body to good use. You have our alliance._ The Incubus then offered him a cup of wine and Jaehyun drank and drank until all of his aches became distant memory.

           Walking home, he was still a little tipsy, his steps a bit slower, less deliberate than usual. His cheek was throbbing and still weeping beads of blood. How would he explain that wound? Normally any bruises or bites were contained below the neckline and were easy enough to hide, but there would be no hiding his bruised and bloody cheek. What could he possibly tell Taeyong that the older man would believe?

            A shift in a shadow nearby jerked him away from his thoughts. He dropped the net of fruit and positioned his hand at the read in his pocket. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be a cultist. They’d payed tithe this month, so there would be no reason for them to be ambushing him. Besides, they would never sneak in the shadows, cult members were much too proud to resort surprise tactics.

            _Low level possession, not a demon. Just some random ghost._ Jaehyun’s mind immediately told him as he pulled out a flask of holy water, his body filling with dread. These sorts of possessions were common enough and easy to deal with, but today his body already felt on the brink of collapse.

            For a moment there was silence, only the sound of cicadas chirping everywhere. Then abruptly she was upon him, pinning him against the wall. It was a woman, her eyes wild and empty. Jaehyun could tell she had been possessed for a long time just by the state of her body: the whites of her eyes had disappeared, just inky black everywhere. Her teeth had corroded and fallen out, her hair hanging in matted strings. She may have been pretty once, before this ghost decided to inhabit her. But she wasn’t anymore.

            “Such a pretty, healthy body. Let me in. I’m sick of this meat I’m wearing. Let me in.” She hissed, her voice strangely garbled like a stroke victim. Jaehyun felt the ghost nudging weakly against his consciousness, trying to invade his mind, but he pushed back, taking up a prayer that made her face contort with fury.

            “Glory be to the father and to the son, and to the holy spirit..”

            The ghost hissed in pain, gripping a hand across Jaehyun’s throat so he couldn’t draw breath and recite.

            _Let me in damn you._  Her voice reverberated in Jaehyun’s mind until he could think of nothing else. This ghost was weak willed, but right now Jaehyun was even weaker; so many nights of being touched by the Lilin-demons having drained his spirit.

            _Can’t you see what a comfort it would be to just let go? Let someone else take control of this body so you don’t have to hurt anymore, don’t have to yearn or feel afraid. You can just give up. You can rest._

            Jaehyun gasped around her grip on his throat. In his daze, her words were alluring. If he let her in, he would lose himself, but he would also lose all of the responsibility, all of the fear and hurt he’d been living with for the past year. There would be no more tithe to pay, no more bloody pentagrams drawn from his palm. There would be no more bodies draping themselves over his without permission, or if there were, he wouldn’t be conscious to feel it happen. It sounded so restful. A slight screeching took up in his ears as he felt the ghost struggling to infiltrate his spirit, it was getting closer.

            _Let me in._

            His vision swam, and suddenly the faces of his friends flickered across his vision one by one. They would be devastated, no he couldn’t leave them.

            With a flick of his wrist, Jaehyun uncorked the holy water, splashing it across the possessed girl’s face. She screeched, losing her grip on his throat. Jaehyun fell into a heap on the floor and the girl clutched her face. She’d been possessed for so long, the holy water was actually burning her as if she was doused in acid, the skin of her face melting away in slick globs, the bulbous orb of her eyes exposed as the lids were eaten away.

            “Oh god.” Jaehyun gasped, sick to his stomach. He tried to reach for his knife, but the lack of oxygen in his head was racking his body in tremors. He could barely keep his grip on the hilt as she reached for him again with a dripping hand. Jaehyun closed his eyes, resigned when he heard a familiar voice punctuating the night:

            “Jaehyun!”

            He opened his eyes just in time to see Taeyong burst from around the corner, loosening a handful of salt at the possessed girl’s face. She whimpered, trying to shield her already ruined eyes before turning and fleeing into the night, her gait jerking like a wounded animal. Jaehyun watched her until she was merely a speck against the darkness, feeling pity well up in his chest despite himself. She didn’t ask to be possessed. Before everything, she must have just been a normal girl, maybe a college student or a young professional. Now she was reduced to a thing that slunk around in dark corners with her fistful of root black teeth. A monster.

            Taeyong bent to wrap his arms around Jaehyun’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest. He was breathing hard, as if he had sprinted there. Jaehyun sunk into the embrace for a moment before pulling away. Taeyong’s lovely face held a faint look of devastation, like it usually did these days.

            “Hyung, what are you doing here?” Jaehyun croaked, his throat aching. Black welts were beginning to bruise like a dark necklace.

            Taeyong brushed Jaehyun’s wounded cheek with light fingers. The younger boy flinched but didn’t pull away.

            “You were taking longer to get home than usual. I was worried, so I went looking for you.” Taeyong said, the moon reflecting in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated for a moment, before cautiously continuing. “I know where you’ve been going.”

            Jaehyun felt his heart drop in his chest. He’d been so careful to be secretive, but of course Taeyong would figure it out eventually.

            “That night… after I saw the teeth marks on your chest, I kind of had a clue. But I needed to know for sure, so today I followed you when you left. I saw where you went…” Taeyong said cautiously, already seeing the anger flooding Jaehyun’s face.

            Jaehyun stood, brushing the black hair away from his eyes in agitation.

            “You _followed_ me? You followed me uninvited to an incubus den? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been for you?” Jaehyun fumed. “They could have killed you!”

            “I know. After I saw where you went, I didn’t linger. I left immediately.” Taeyong said, putting up a hand, trying to placate the younger man’s anger, but it was too late.

            “No, they wouldn’t have killed you. They would have used you like they use me.” Jaehyun continued, his voice rising in rage, but he couldn’t control it. He looked at Taeyong, his striking face, his bright eyes curtained under soft brown hair. He was beautiful, of course the Lilin-demons would want to lie with him too. But Jaehyun couldn’t even stomach that thought. It made him sick to his stomach. It filled him with something angry and protective.

            “Do you have any idea of how much it hurts?” Jaehyun hissed, his voice now dangerously quiet. “The Lilin live my leeching off the spirit of those they hold intercourse with. It feels like they’re devouring you from the inside out. And you dared to follow me there?”

            Taeyong’s hands were shaking. He’d hoped against hope that his hunch had been false, that somehow this was all a big misunderstanding. The thought of what Jaehyun had been putting himself through for the past few months was too painful to digest. He blinked back tears.

            “Then why did you strike up a deal with them?” Taeyong asked, his voice beginning to quiver. “Was it because of the money? Was it food? Because we could have found another… we all could have…”

            “That wasn’t the only reason.” Jaehyun interrupted him, his face crumpling. Certainly money and provisions had been part of it, but he would have found another way around that. It was for protection. The promise of the Incubus to offer assistance in times of need.

            “Then why?” Taeyong  asked, his voice finally giving away.

            Jaehyun tried to move past him, but Taeyong blocked his path.

            “You can’t keep going there. You know that laying with a Lilin-demon will do to your health, to your mental state. You need to stop.” He hated himself for it, but Taeyong was crying; his vision suddenly swimming. After everything Jaehyun had been quietly suffering, Taeyong didn’t feel like he had a right to tears

            Jaehyun closed his eyes to block out the sight of his friend’s sadness. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t wound Taeyong further.

            “It hurts. You’re hurting me.” Taeyong admitted, feeling weak and small as he did. But he couldn’t lie. The thought of Jaehyun suffering alone in such a situation cut like a knife. Not fully understanding what he was doing, he reached out, cupping Jaehyun’s uninjured cheek in his hand. The younger man was cold to the touch, his cheekbone prominent in his palm. How many times had Taeyong touched his face lovingly like this when they were trainees together? Jaehyun had always been a bright, happy, at times ditzy boy. Someone Taeyong had always felt responsible for as a hyung, but something in his marrow told him it wasn’t just camaraderie that he was feeling. At some point, though Taeyong couldn’t pinpoint when, he’d begun to feel more.

           All around them, the night air was livid with cicadas, their shrieks shredding the air like an accordion song; but all Taeyong could focus on was Jaehyun. His pallid face and dark eyes like two beetles on a birch tree, his demeanor that had shed any last trace of his former childlike naivety. Taeyong’s heart swelled and thrashed between his ribs, and without knowing what he was doing, he was leaning in, taking the younger boy’s lips in his own. Jaehyun froze for a moment, his whole body tense with disbelief, and then he suddenly went slack, his mouth opening slightly so Taeyong could taste the fine wine that still lingered on his tongue. The two fell against the wall, the brick cold against Jaehyun’s back as they kissed each other with something like desperation. How often had Jaehyun imagined Taeyong as the Incubus’ lips, hands, bodies had impinged upon him? Too many times.

           Gently, Taeyong broke away from Jaehyun’s lips, tracing a trail of kisses along his cheek, on the cone of his ear, and down the side of his neck; lingering for a moment to nip and suck at where throat met collarbone. Jaehyun gasped as a jolt of pleasure trailed up and down his back, as he continued to nip faint bruises into his sensitive skin. How different these touches felt when they were wanted.

           Taeyong took his lips again, and Jaehyun tasted faint sweetness and the salt of his own skin. It was enough to buckle his knees, but Taeyong caught him, he was always there to catch him. Some things never changed. 

            “Please don’t go back there.” Taeyong breathed in the brief moment when they broke apart for breath, his hands cupping either side of Jaehyun’s face. “You don’t have to do it to yourself.”

            It was as if he were doused in water, the reality of their situation dispelling the magic Taeyong’s lips had weaved over him. Jaehyun drew away, drawing a sleeve against his lip and shaking his head slowly. A hurt look was blossoming over Taeyong’s face.

           “You’re not understanding, hyung. It’s too late for me.” Jaehyun said. In the distance, a rabble of voices were rising above the treetops; some disassociated violence punctuating the night. “I’ve already struck a deal, and I can’t renege on it. They’d come after me. And worse, they’d come after all of you.”

           Ice seemed to seep through all of Taeyong’s limbs. Somehow, all he could see before his eyes was the Jaehyun from his memory: happy young Jaehyun with full cheeks sneaking bites of  food during filming, Jaehyun trying to navigate and getting the two of them hopelessly lost, Jaehyun and his laughter that crinkled his eyes to half moons. He saw, he saw, and then he couldn’t see him anymore. His eyes were blurry with tears. When he rubbed them away, all that was before him was this new Jaehyun that had given up everything, his body bruised and riddled by someone’s teeth.

 _I love you._ He thought, but didn’t dare say aloud. _I love you, I love you, I’ve loved you all along._

           But Jaehyun was already turning away, walking towards their home. To Taeyong, every alley looking like a hungry mouth opening to swallow him whole. 


	7. Day 419

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are the best readers ever. Thank you so much for the kudos and the extremely thoughtful and kind comments :) I love reading them (even criticism or feedback!) because it motivates me to do better. All the love <3 ~joojoobe

~~

Day 418

~~

            Jaehyun rose, clothing himself slowly. The pallid skin of his chest was splotched with purpling bruises, but for once, it was not the demon’s doing. Lately, his body would bloom purple and red scars for no reason, as if protesting its own mistreatment.

            The incubus watched him dress, his strikingly maroon eyes taking in the bruises that blossomed along his ribcage.

            “We’ve been feeding on your body for too long. Your health is beginning to deteriorate.” It said matter-of-factly. There was no pity in its voice, but no malice either.

            It was true. In the past few weeks, Jaehyun had been feeling the effects of coupling with the lilin demons more direly than most. His nights were punctuated with night terrors and hallucinations, and when he woke his body felt ignited with such fever he could only lay prone, gasping, waiting for the pain to pass. Though only Taeyong knew the reason for the lapse of health, everyone noticed it. Yuta and Hansol brought back various herbs and bootleg medicine from the black market, but none seemed to alleviate the symptoms. Ten, Winwin and Mark’s expressions were constantly darkened with worry. And sometimes Taeyong would sneak into his room to press a finger to his throat, checking for a pulse as if worried he might die without witness in the night. Then he would press his warm lips to his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his lips in apology. In nights like those, Jaehyun could feel the helplessness radiating off of his hyung, but would feign sleep because what else could he possibly do? How could love fit in to this dark equation where he was just a sold body that would erode away eventually? It was better to try and not reciprocate Taeyong’s feelings. It was the merciful thing to do.

            There were moments though, or course, of lapse when they kissed in empty hours of the house, filled with a violent wonder at each other’s presence; hands tangling, tasting the other’s salt. But before it could get too far, Jaehyun would unfurl himself from Taeyong’s body because he knew when he was about to beg. _Don’t go, we can find a way out of this, don’t go there anymore._ But Jaehyun had to. He had to, and Taeyong would powerlessly let go and watch him as he left, unwilling and unable to encroach on the last shred of free will he owned.

            “Take some time to yourself, and come back when you have recuperated a bit.” The incubus said, pulling Jaehyun away from his thoughts. “I don’t enjoy bedding someone so feeble and helpless.”

            “Oh, so even you demons have standards?” Jaehyun snapped, but the incubus just smiled coyly.

            “We are not without moral code, boy. For example, Lilin-demons would never kill a child, nor would we lay with one. Which is more than what I can say for your race. Humans have no limit to ways they are cruel to one another.”

            Jaehyun didn’t have a retort, so he didn’t offer one.

            The incubus brushed the curtain of black hair out of his uncannily perfect face, observing Jaehyun with something akin to concern.

            “I’m sure you have heard of the Holy Sector opening its borders tomorrow. Will you go?” He asked, splitting a pomegranate in his hand.

            “There are people I am looking for, so yes. I will go.” Jaehyun answered curtly, taking the half of the fruit offered to him. The ruby red kernels of the fruit flexed and shimmered in the lamplight, tasted of everything he missed about his life before. He wrestled down the peculiar urge to cry.

            The incubus let his eyes wander around the room, the bare bodies undulating and tangled together in a mass of sweat and limbs. “It would be better for you not to go.” He said finally, his eyes returning to lock with Jaehyun: soft brown on cerise.

            “And why is that?”

            “Though you’re not possessed by a demon, you’ve been touched by many. The holy wards put up around the border will likely hurt you.”

            “There are things  worth more than just my health.” Jaehyun replied after a brief silence.

            The incubus laughed, a brief glint of what may have been begrudging respect passing his eyes.

            “I’d expect nothing less. Just remember young human, there is nothing more insidious than people that name themselves holy.”

 

 

~~

Day 419

~~

 

            The crowds that appeared for the opening of the border were tremendous; the cacophony of voices rose into the black sky in both excitement and worry. Split families, separated beloveds and friends all gathering in the hopes of reuniting with those they had lost when the wall went up.

            Taeyong and the others huddled close to one another so as not to get jostled apart by the crowds that swelled and pushed. They had put their petition in with the names of the people they were looking for, now all there was to do was wait. Johnny, Jaemin, Kun, Jeno, Donghyuk, Taeil, Doyoung.

            _Please let them be alive. Please let them be alive._

            Taeyong tried not to entertain the possibility that they may not have survived those first few months before the Holy Sector came to power, but the thought was suffocating. Memories were cascading his mind unbidden: Donghyuk’s endless pranks, Johnny’s infectious smile, the countless night laughing and crying and practicing together in the dance hall as night gave in to brilliant morning. If they had not made it, if the last that Taeyong had seen of his friends had indeed been their turned backs as they were pushed apart, he didn’t know how he could shoulder that grief.

            A small hand on his shoulder drew him out of the pit of his memories. Ten smiled brightly at him, even their dismal circumstances unable to douse the lamp of his spirit.

            “They’re alive and well. We’re going to see them. I just know it.”

            “Ten…”

            “Shh… don’t you know I’m clairvoyant?” Ten asked playfully, waggling his fingers. Then more seriously: “Let’s not be preemptive in our sadness.”

            The walls that barricaded the Holy Sector were built so high Taeyong could hardly see the top of the spires. He knew the entire face of the wall was engraved in scripture and held cores of salt, giant gilt crosses studding the tops like great beacons of light, illuminating the immediate ground below it almost as a sun would. It was no wonder that demons and ghosts shied away from its vicinity. Even Taeyong who had lived in the presence of evil for so long felt strange amongst all this holy. Somehow out of place, as if it might burn his eyes if he gazed upon it for too long.

            At the checkpoints where people queued to be let in, clerics in holy robes and plague doctor masks stood at attention, checking everyone’s eyes for the telltale red tinge of possession before letting them in. As they drew closer to the gate, Taeyong felt his heart begin to beat wildly out of control. In excitement but also in a strange insidious dread that he couldn’t pinpoint the source of.

            _I’m just worried I won’t be able to see the others._

            But no, that wasn’t it. There was more to this fear, though it didn’t have a name.

            “We’re next, Taeyong.” Yuta said, gently nudging him forward and the group moved as a unit towards the row of robed clerics.

            With rough hands, the clerics grabbed at them, pulling them forward for inspection. Taeyong gasped as the inspector before him seized his chin, harshly dragging his face nearer. Though the cleric was wearing a beaked, bone white mask that hid most of his features, his eyes were still visible under the black mesh and Taeyong zoned in on them; unwilling to squall under such violent scrutiny. The cleric mumbled something indistinct under his mask and shined a searingly bright light directly in his pupils, no doubt looking for blotches of crimson in the chestnut brown of his eyes. When he found nothing, he forced his head back, tipping a small flask-worth of oddly sweet liquid down his throat.

            “What was that?” Taeyong sputtered as the cleric finally relinquished his hold on him.

            “Holy water. We can’t have you unpure filth who has caroused with evil enter these holy boundaries without cleansing.” The cleric said, his voice oddly malignant. It struck Taeyong as horribly odd that a group of people who had been split barely more than a year ago had already created prejudices against one another.

            “Am I pure enough for you? May I enter the gate?” Taeyong asked, giving a sarcastically irreverent bow. The cleric only jerked his masked face towards the glimmering entrance in affirmation, already beckoning the next group of people towards him.

            “Shit, I feel like they half blinded me.” Hansol said as their group reconverged, rubbing the sting of the bright light out of his eyes. Yuta was clinging to his arm like a lifeline, looking a bit ill.

            “That holy water kind of stung going down. Did everyone else feel that?”

            They all nodded. Taeyong supposed they had just been living amongst such dark miasma for so long that even the holy water was beginning to rebuke them, as if evil were contagious. That must have been why the clerics had been wearing plague doctor masks, they believed them to be inferior; tainted. Taeyong wanted to be angry, but perhaps it was true.  

            As they entered through the gate, they could only gasp at the lavishness of the interior. The city itself was still cordoned off by another set of walls, but even the buffer zone built between them was a study in architectural grace. The walls sloped before them in embellished stone, stained glass windows shimmering their rainbow hues; beautiful despite the artificial sunlight shining behind it. On the loudspeakers above them, a steady chanting of scripture filled the room and the floor had been intentionally flooded with an ankle-deep layer of holy water.

            “They really went all out in terms of precautions.” Mark said as Winwin began splashing his feet in the water like a child in a puddle of rain. Ten smiled brilliantly as he watched the younger man, but Taeyong couldn’t help but notice the odd look on Jaehyun’s face. As though their surroundings were unsettling him.

            “Are you alright?” Taeyong leaned in to whisper in his ear, squeezing his wrist firmly before letting go.

            Jaehyun nodded. “Just nervous.” He said dismissively, but his already pale skin had definitely become even more starch white; the beautiful onyx hue of his eyes dilated from fear or pain.

            Taeyong was just about to respond when another masked cleric walked briefly towards them.

            “Your petition has been granted. Follow me into Chapel 1.” She said, her voice distorted under the mask. Winwin and Ten cheered right away, hope filling the pit of their stomachs as they followed the female cleric to where their friends hopefully were waiting.

            “Stay close to me.” Taeyong muttered to Jaehyun and the two interlaced their fingers. Jaehyun’s hand was so, so hot to the touch. As if he’d dipped his fingers into a vat of boiling water. “You have a fever.” He said.

            “It’ll pass.” Jaehyun answered tiredly, willing his face to be immutable. He didn’t want their reunion to be punctuated with needless worry for him. “I’m fine.”

            As they arrived at the chapel, Yuta seemed hardly able to contain his excitement. He was smiling that bright, healing smile he had once been so known for when they were working as celebrities. It had been more than a year since Taeyong had seen that smile, it flooded his heart with joy. Yes, they were going to reunite with their old friends. Any fear he was feeling was merely because fear had become his primary mode, but there was no need for it today. Only joy. Only love.

            The chapel was much smaller than expected with only a few pews in the center of the room, facing a giant cross above the pulpit. The walls were ringed with masked clerics standing at the ready with holy water and knives, but Taeyong didn’t care about the fact that they were being treated like a bunch of potentially violent prisoners. He didn’t care because right before his eyes, he saw them. Alive. The faces that had paraded his dreams night after night for more than a year. All else seemed to disappear into a vortex: the line of clerics along the wall just waiting for something to go wrong, the never-ending din of scripture from the loudspeaker, the dampness of holy water at their feet. Without understanding, his body was already running. They all were. They fell into a desperate embrace with the first body that collided with them.

             Taeyong was knocked off his feet from the sheer force of the person who barreled into him. He recognized his woodsy scent before he even looked down. It was Jaemin, his arms around Taeyong waist; he was sobbing into his chest, wetting the front of his shirt with tears. Taeyong buried his face into the younger boy’s neck. In the short time that they were separated, he had grown taller, his voice evened and lowered. He had finished his adolescence, and Taeyong had not been there for that milestone. That realization sent a knife of hurt through him.

              “Let me see your face.” Taeyong said through his tears, cupping Jaemin’s cheeks in his hands. He looked older, but the sweetness of the smile was just as he remembered. Taeyong planted a brotherly kiss on his forehead, wiping away his tears with the pads of his fingers.

             “Have you been okay? Are you well?” Taeyong asked. All around them were the feverishly happy sounds of reunion. Donghyuk and Yuta were already teasing each other mercilessly. Johnny had practically picked Ten up off the floor in their embrace and had yet to put him back down. Jeno had flown into Jaehyun’s arms, while Hansol and Taeil conversed quietly in the corner, clasping hands as if they couldn’t quite believe the other’s presence was true.

             Jaemin stalled at the question, his eyes quivering a bit as he took in the line of clerics that just watched their joy in silence. Then he smiled again, nodding vigorously.

              “Yes, we’ve been excellent!”

               He’d hesitated. He’d hesitated too long to be telling the truth. But before Taeyong could inquire further, someone else was pulling him away. Doyoung pulled him into an embrace, his face as bunny-like as ever.

             “I’m so, so glad you’re all alive. We were always so scared. During the sermons, they told us about what happened outside the walls, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t..” His voice coiled with emotion.

             “We’re okay. We keep eachother safe.” Taeyong interrupted, pulling back to observe his friend. He was wearing the same bleach white robe as everyone else. It briefly struck Taeyong as strange that everyone in the Holy Sector seemed to dress alike, as if the church regulated even appearances, but that inkling of a thought melted away as the others converged on him with their hands and lips.

             The hours seemed to melt away as they reunited, talking about everything but the present. If Taeyong closed his eyes, it almost felt as though they were back in their dorms, sitting in a circle and passing a few bottles of beer and candies between them. It felt as though at any moment, the sun would rise and they would climb into their bunk beds to feign sleep as their manager came to get them. But when he opened his eyes, they were still in a chapel in the buffer zone between a split city. Half of them were still covered in scars and wounds, while the other half were clad in identical holy robes, a strangely haunted look in their eyes.

                “Why did this happen?” Jaemin asked suddenly, his eyes glistening as he extending his hands blindly out for comfort. Everyone reached out in turn, holding his palm, stroking his hair; but no one answered. Who could possibly have a reply to that?

               The scripture from the overhead speaker suddenly crackled to silence as a clinical female voice rang out through them: _Your time is at an end. Outsiders please bid goodbye to your loved ones and proceed to the gate._

               “Will you come back next month?” Jeno asked desperately as they all stood to embrace one more time. The masked clerics were creeping in closer, preparing to force Taeyong and the others out of the room.

               “We’ll come back every month.” Winwin said reassuringly as Kun watched him turn to go.

               Johnny could only stare, his heart wounded and afraid as the others turned to leave. With the exception of Ten and Winwin, everyone else had changed. Something dark and hard had infiltrated their very core, as if their predicament had forced them to armor themselves in a layer of frost. Jaehyun had especially changed, his smile empty and perfunctory, no trace of that childlike demeanor he’d had.

               Wanting to extend one last word of comfort, Johnny reached out, grasping Jaehyun’s shoulder firmly; but suddenly the younger man’s knees were giving out from beneath him. He fell with a splash to the holy water drenched floor, his face contorted with unspeakable pain. For a moment, everyone froze, unable to do anything but watch their friend gasp on the ground, a hand pressed to his chest as though trying to hold the heart in.

            “Jaehyun!” Kun fell to his knees, the first to come out of his paralysis. He lifted Jaehyun’s head up and gasped because the heat coming off of his skin was incredible, like a furnace. He swept away the drenched bangs from his face and shook him harshly. “Jaehyun! Hey!”

            Taeyong was rooted to the spot, the noise seemed to rise in a crescendo as everyone knelt beside Jaehyun shouting, but he couldn’t couldn’t move from the spot. He couldn’t will his feet to go forward, even as Jaehyun began coughing up the holy water they’d been forced to drink at the entrance, he was choking on it; and Taeyong knew it immediately. His body was rejecting it. His body was affected by holy wards. That’s why he’d seemed so weak as they neared the gates and all that overwhelming crosses and scriptures.

            _It’s because he’s been touched by the lilin._ His mind bleated to him as he finally willed his body to move, to fall to his knees before the younger man. He was just about to reach out when he was suddenly seized from behind, dragged away. Taeyong knew he was being held by the clerics even before he looked up to see their beaked mask. He thrashed in their grip, yelling incoherently about needing to help before something heavy bludgeoned the side of his head, smearing red across his vision. When his eyes finally blinked away the blood, he saw all of his friends being forced to the floor. Ten’s nose was bleeding heavily, clearly broken, and Yuta was unconscious and limp on the ground. Johnny, Taeil, Jeno and the others from the holy sector were being dragged away, out of the chapel and into the night, but Taeyong could still hear them screaming and begging even as he could no longer see them. Two of the clerics were bending over Jaehyun’s limp body, speaking amongst themselves in a voice that was clipped and clinical.

            “Unclean.” They repeated to each other. “This one is unclean. He must be punished for encroaching on our holy boundary.” They grabbed a fistful of his jet black hair, forcing him to his knees. He was barely conscious, he teetered precariously, his eyes glossy and elsewhere. The clerics unhooked embellished knives from their belts, the gilt cross on the hilt shimmering under the lamplight.

            “Stop!” Hansol choke out, breathless from being pinned to the floor under a cleric’s knee. He was silenced immediately as the cleric viciously forced his knee into his ribs where they gave with a small crack.

            “He’s not evil! He’s not possessed. He’s just sick. He has a fever, please!” Taeyong cried out, his vision blurring and focusing in cycles because oh god, he was panicking. He had never been so scared. “Just let us take him out of here. Please!”

            But they weren’t listening, they drew his head back to reveal the white of his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing and vulnerable.

            Jaehyun’s eyes finally focused for a fraction of a second, zoning in on the first pair of eyes he saw: Mark’s wild and desperate ones.

            _Get them out of here._ He mouthed before his eyes rolled into his head and he finally fell into unconsciousness. And Mark was suddenly thrashing, attempting to throw his cleric off with the wildness of a cornered animal. His thin frame was suddenly a wildfire, unable to be held or contained with only one pair of hands. This couldn’t be happening. He would not watch someone he loved being slaughtered for no reason. No.

             Two more clerics converged on him, trying to hold him down, but he managed to reach above him, pulling one of their masks off with a small snap. With the sharp beak of the mask, he stabbed blindly at whoever was before him, catching one of the clerics in the only vulnerable part of his covered face: the eye. He screeched, scrabbling wildly as his ruptured cornea wept clear fluid, and Mark took the opportunity to swipe the holy knife at his belt. He unsheathed it, and he was running, barreling into the man who held the knife to Jaehyun’s throat. It had just begun to press down, beading red at the blade, but it went no further than just knicking skin because Mark had knocked him away, He had the man pinned securely under his grasp, his own stolen knife poised right above the eye hole of the cleric’s mask.

              “I’ll stab him in the fucking face. I swear I will.” Mark roared at the one remaining man bent above Jaehyun’s prone body. The cleric seemed to gaze at Mark with amazement, and Taeyong too could hardly believe the amount of fire that seemed to be flickering in his eyes. It was a look of ferocious determination unlike that which he’d ever seen or expected from his normally calm and collected Mark Lee.

              At some point, more masked clerics had entered the room, closing in on the center of the chapel the great dark ghosts. But they weren’t stopping to observe anyone else, their eyes were trained on Mark.

           “He has what we seek.” One of them said, pointing a gloved hand. “Seize him.”

             And it was like a plague of locust had fallen upon their maknae, the dark robes of the clerics covering him completely as they worked to bind him, knocking the knife out of his grip.

           “Mark!” Taeyong shouted as he heard the younger yelp in pain, but he got no further answer. “Mark! Mark!”

            He was being dragged away towards the interior city of the Holy Sector, his wrists tied together like a prisoner, his cheek already beginning to purple from being struck, his lip split and dribbling cerise. He looked back, his eyes frightened but resigned, no longer struck with madness.

 _Run_. He mouthed, trying to extend an empty smile before the door of the chapel closed behind him.

_No. No no no, no Mark, no._

            “Taeyong we have to go.” Ten said, suddenly beside him. Hansol had also wrestled the cleric off of him and was hoisting Yuta’s unconscious body over his shoulder. Already more guards were trying to close in on them, but all he could think of was Mark getting dragged off to God knows where.

           “But we have to…”

           “We can’t do anything to help Mark if we all die here.” Hansol said. “We have to go. Now!” He pulled Taeyong up to his feet. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, the panic distorting his vision until he didn’t know what was forward or backwards. But the truth behind Hansol’s words struck him like a knife. He hoisted Jaehyun’s limp body over his shoulder, and they all ran out into the familiar darkness together.


	8. Day 419- Confluence

~~

Day 419- Holy Sector

~~

            For a while, there was brilliant nothingness. No pain, no awareness, no name. All around him, just soft, impossible light.

            _This is good. I’d like to stay here._  His mind echoed as it curled around itself, small and embryonic. But a sudden stab of pain erupted, dispelling the light; everything collapsing into a vortex as his eyes snapped open.

            “Johnny!” Jeno gasped as the older man finally regain consciousness. He dropped the bloody rag he’d been holding into the vat of hot water beside him and reached out to clasp his hyung’s hands.

            “What happened?” Johnny croaked, his throat feeling as though it had been blasted by sand.

            “You wouldn’t stop struggling so the clerics hit you over the head with the hilt of their knives.” Jeno replied, squeezing out the rag and dabbing Johnny’s cut temple with it. The bleeding had mostly staunched, it was more of a weeping rather than a steady stream now. “You’ve been out cold for more than an hour.”

            _Struggling?_ The assault must have addled his mind because Johnny couldn’t remember much. He remembered Ten’s brilliant smile, holding his long separated friend’s hands in his, then a low din of human shouting. He remembered being suddenly converged upon by black robed clerics, beaked masks and gloved hands, but nothing much beyond that.

            Johnny looked around their extremely spare living quarters: the walls bare of everything except the obligatory wooden crosses and broadsides of scripture. Jeno had a purple bruise blossoming along his jaw.  Doyoung was sitting at a chair near the window like a folded piece of paper, his face tucked against his knees. Johnny didn’t need to see his face to know he’d been crying. Taeil, Donghyuk and Jaemin were nowhere to be found.

            “Where are the others?” Johnny asked, dread already pooling in his stomach. Jeno had a good poker face, had always been great at carefully masking his horror. But there were cracks in his carefully constructed mask today, the anguish was beginning to bleed through, and that scared Johnny more than anything.

            “The clerics took Donghyuk and Jaemin away. I don’t know where, but they took them. They said it was because we fraternized with evil, or something. They said they would take our two youngest to punish us for daring to side with each other over the church…” It was as if a dam had erupted in Jeno as he began to speak more and more rapidly, his eyes quivering in an attempt to keep his frightened tears from falling. “Something about demonstrating that even as our friends leave, the church will always be there. Something like that. But what were we supposed to do? Just quietly watch them slit Jaehyun-hyung’s throat and do nothing about it? They came so close. Fucking damn it…the knife was right at his neck, if Mark hadn’t managed to get to them in time Jaehyun would be go-gone and… oh god, what’s going to happen to them? Mark and Donghyuk and Jae-jaemin-ie-”

            Johnny watched the last thread of Jeno’s composure unravel as he babbled mindlessly as if to drown out his own thoughts. His hands wracked in violent tremors as he tried to squeeze the blood pinked water out of the rag, but he just couldn’t find the strength to wring it out. He wanted to steady his hand, tend to Johnny’s injury but he just couldn’t, couldn’t stop.

            “Jeno… shh” Johnny hushed in a way he hoped was comforting, placing his large calloused hands over Jeno’s smaller, quivering ones. “Calm down.”

            Jeno swallowed hard around his own emotion, trying to quell the panic that was rising like a floodtide. Johnny sat up tentatively. His head hurt like a bitch; sharp and throbbing pulses of pain watering his eyes. He reached up to touch the ruptured skin there. How viciously must they have hit him to knock him out so completely?

            “Doyoung?” Johnny called, and the younger man finally unburied his face from his knees. His eyes were puffy and reddened, but he wasn’t crying anymore. He just stared out the window as if ashamed to face anywhere else.

            “Where is Taeil-hyung?” Johnny asked.

            “He went to go appeal to the reverends about freeing the kids.”

            “How long has he been gone?”

            “More than an hour.”

            The memories that had been eluding him were coming back to him in small pieces. Jaehyun’s odd demeanor, the way he collapsed like he was made of stone, Mark’s unexpected outburst, how the clerics had dragged him away. Johnny supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Despite being calm and quietly observant most of the time, Mark had a core of latent fire; there had always been something so very courageous about him. Even before everything in their world went to shit.  

            “Will they be okay?” Jeno asked in a small voice. From the church issued loudspeaker overhead, the Lord’s prayer was beginning to play, marking midnight. Johnny wanted nothing but the ability to turn it down, to drown out his anxiety in a sea of silence. But of course, the loudspeakers the church placed in each home were built with the inability to be adjusted: neither turned down nor turned off. The scripture just kept coming without consent, there was no such thing as free will.

            _I can’t breathe._ Johnny thought. _I can’t breathe._

 

_~~_

 

            Taeil had failed. He’d waited for hours to petition the release of his friends, but he’d been denied at the door without even a confirmation of whether they were alive or dead. He walked back to his home with what felt like a mouthful of dirt. Despite being the eldest, he was useless. Useless. How would he face the others now?

            _We’re purging the city of what is unclean._ They’d said vaguely. Was Taeil to believe then that they had already been killed? Mark, Jaemin, Donghyuk. Some of their very youngest. Even the possibility of it was too much for him to negotiate. It made his knees weak. It made him want to vomit.

            After the chaos of the border opening and closing, the streets were silent and empty. The only sounds punctuating the heaviness of night was the low din of ever present scripture, and the strangled moans of the possessed bound to stakes in the middle of the town square. Normally, Taeil couldn’t bear to look at the spectacle of the public exorcisms, but today, somehow, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Only one was still conscious, a boy in his late teens, his hair dripping with holy water, his eyes an unnatural shade of wine red. Taeil wondered how long he’d been possessed for. It couldn’t have been very long, because the body had not yet given out to fatigue and waste. He was thrashing against his bindings, his wrists visibly bleeding from the effort, all the while he hissed a strange litany:

            “May he crush your lips that you may not pray. May he take your eyes so that you may not seek. May he cut out your tongue so as you cannot speak of love or anything holy. May your mind fall to rot for all your human hubris. He is coming. He is coming, and all the trees in the field shall clap their hands”

            Taeil knew he should feel frightened, but he didn’t. There was something so beautiful, so pure about this unhusked evil. At least it didn’t masquerade goodness. At least it was truthful in its malignance, unlike the reverends who preached of brotherhood when their hands were still bloodied from needless execution.

            All of a sudden, the teen boy’s eyes fell upon him, for the first time seeming to acknowledge his presence.

          “You admire me, human.” It said, his voice much lower than what was probably natural for the young body it was inhabiting. His eyes were bright red like a headlight, not a demon, just a simple ghost. Still, it was charismatic, made Taeil want to move closer. “You admire me, and you seek revenge from those who have wronged you. Untie me, and I can help you. Untie me, and we’ll lay waste to this place together.”

          His hands were moving without understanding. In a trance, his body climbed the stairs towards where the possession was tied. A wild smile cut across the boy’s face as Taeil drew closer, reaching towards the bindings. He was so close, he could see the blackened corrosion of the possession’s teeth.

_Yes, this is okay. What have we got to lose?_

          But as quickly as he fell into trance, his mind rebuked him. With a strangled sob, he fell back, stumbling down the stairs and away from the stakes. Covering his ears to drown out the wild cursing that followed him. He fled down the darkest alley, running so quickly the houses nearby fell into one collective blur of white. His hands were shaking, disbelief filling his marrow at what he had almost done. That he’d looked upon evil and deemed it beautiful. He used to be so gentle and mild mannered. What had happened to his mind in the past year? It scared him. He was scared of himself.

          Losing his balance, he fell in a heap to the floor, bloodying his knuckles as they broke his fall; but the pain was agreeable. His mind half elsewhere, he began throttling the stone floor with his fists, opening the skin of his knuckles, embedding them with rock but it didn’t matter. He imagined the masked face of the clerics beneath his fists, the lacquer cracking to reveal a busted face, knocked out teeth, bruised eyes. Taeil couldn’t stop thinking of the myriad of ways Mark, Jaemin, and Donghyuk could be suffering right this moment, and he’d never wanted to hurt someone so badly in his life.

           Then suddenly, he was himself again. The imaged face of the cleric was gone, and he was just gripping a handful of dirt in his bloody hands. He was panting, rocking back and forth on his knees to try and rein himself back in.

 _You’re losing it._ His mind bleated at him pathetically. _You’re really losing it._

           With a steadying breath, he let himself rest against the wall, the stone was cool against his sweaty back. A crow was cawing from a nearby tree, an ink splotch against the dark sky. Overhead the night flexed with stars, the moon half-full. It was beautiful, but Taeil had never missed the sun more. He lost track of how long he sat like this in the alley: blank, empty and thoughtless, just looking up at the forever-night sky. It hurt him to think that he would have to return home empty handed. He wasn’t ready to face the look of disappointment in his friends’ eyes.

_They’ll worry. You have to go back eventually._

           With a groan, he stood shakily, taking a few tentative steps forward. His hands were really starting to burn now, and he absently wrapped the white cloth of his robe around his knuckles to staunch the steady flow of blood. It wasn’t until he’d turned a few alleys that he realized the crow from earlier was following him, fluttering from eave to eave as if to keep him in sight. It looked at him with its bead black eyes, cocking its head as if in communication.

           “What do you want?” He asked aloud, and the bird continued to follow. Taeil knew that crows were incredibly intelligent birds with the ability to remember faces and hold grudges. He was just beginning to wonder if he’d ever accidentally harmed a bird, when suddenly the crow had landed on his shoulders in a flurry of black feathers. Taeil gasped as he felt the talons dig in to his skin, but the bird was hoisting one of its spindly legs up, cooing deep in its chest as if trying to draw his attention there.

            And then he saw it: a small black note tied against its left leg, almost imperceptible amongst its mass of tar black feathers. His heart thudding in his throat, Taeil untied the note from the bird’s leg, and immediately it took flight, disappearing over the rooftops.

            He unfolded the note, and the words shone out at him in silver ink:

_Our eye is on the sparrow. We shall instruct thee and teach thee the way which thou should go. We will guide thee with our eyes._

             Taeil recognized the lines immediately, it was from psalm 32:8, but some of the  words were different, rearranged. In his head, inexplicably, it clicked. Mark was the sparrow. The note was talking about Mark. He didn’t know how he knew this, but suddenly he was so sure.  Below the scripture, in the same silver ink were a few numbers that Taeil was sure were coordinates. He read them over and over, emblazoning them into his photographic memory, and at the very bottom was a signature: _The Seculars._

             His heart leapt into his throat, a small flame of hope taking kindle in his chest. He pocketed the note deep inside his robe and took off at a sprint.

 

~~

           

            If Mark could will himself to be dead, he would. There was not a single inch of his body that wasn’t aching, that wasn’t riddled with bruises. Perhaps it was his own fault for having struggled so much, but they had beaten him with such fury he was sure they had broken some ribs, twisted a muscle in his arms. He felt disoriented and fatigued, his vision doubled as if he’d suddenly developed a stigmatism; a sure sign of a concussion. He was propped up on his knees, his ankles and wrists bound in painful cords. He swallowed hard around a mouthful of blood, refusing to cry, though he wanted to. Though every nerve ending in his body was aching for some kind of cathartic release. He refused to cry, because they were watching him. Discussing him as if he were some prized horse in a racing gamble.

            The reverends sat in a circle at the varnished wooden table overladen with food: glistening champagne grapes, thick slabs of meat and cheese, whole grilled fish smothered in a rich, herbaceous sauce. Lovely girls and boys wandered around, refilling their chalices with wine; an extremely defeated look in each of their eyes. The one named Reverend Yoo’s eyes lingered too long on the young girl who refilled his glass, and Mark immediately was filled with realization.

            _You twisted motherfucker. You sick, perverted fucking bastard._

            The reverend’s eyes fell upon Mark, and he couldn’t hide his seething, jaws clenched, his teeth grinding against each other almost audibly.

            “Oh? Our young guest doesn’t seem very happy.” Reverend Yoo said, his voice soft but insidious. “You shouldn’t be so tightly wound, this is a celebration after all. Here, this may relax you a bit.”

            With rough hands, he clutched Mark’s jaw, forcibly tipping his head back to pour wine into his open mouth. The alcohol burned his throat and Mark sputtered, his vision suddenly going red in rage. How dare this man put hands on him? How dare they tie him up and force him to sit on his knees like an animal for auction?

            Without fully comprehending what he was doing, Mark spit the wine at the Reverend’s face, splashing his eyes and the front of his white robe with crimson. His shouted, rubbing at his burning eyes, and Mark saw the impossible rage flood his features. He raised his arm and backhanded him viciously across the head, and Mark’s vision drowned in white blotches of light. He’d fallen onto his side, his cheek against the varnished wooden floor. He’d been struck so hard he couldn’t even cry out, he could only gasp. But someone from the table was laughing and clapping in appreciation.

            “He’s perfect. Such strength of character to rebel even in such a dire situation.” One of the reverends said, his face wildly happy. “This one will be a success. I’m sure of it.”

            “What the fuck are you talking about?” Mark groaned, trying to struggle back onto his knees, but bound as he was, he couldn’t find the balance. Reverend Yoo stooped, grabbing a fistful of his hair and dragging him back into kneeling position.

            “It’s a shame.” Reverend Yoo bent to whisper in Mark’s ear. “That I can’t claim you. I do so enjoy breaking the spirited ones.”

            “Fuck you.”

             “Such fire. It’s true, you’re perfect. The ideal vessel.”

            “And what the hell do you mean by that?”

            The reverend stood, the smile on his face sending shivers down Mark’s spine. His eyes were appraising, as if he were scoping out the most ripened of fruit.

            “You will call upon Lucifer. If he deems you worthy, you will be his vessel. And the church will lay claim to that power. By God’s will, we will subjugate him.”


	9. Day 421

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just wanted to emphasize the trigger warning for this chapter. There's some violence in the first part, but from now on, most of the chapters will be getting increasingly more disturbing. I just thought it's only fair to warn readers of that. Also the text I reference at the end in this chapter is a direct quote from a text on demonology called Ars Goetia, so all credits to the (long since passed) author of that text. I didn't write that part :p. Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and comment, it is really motivating to me, especially as I transition into the much darker and harder to write bit of this story <3

~~

Day 421

~~

            A day gone by. His cheek on the stone floor again looking up at the moon’s lazy arc through the stained glass window. He resents its freedom, its dumb, bright beauty opening an eye in the tarred swath of night. His wrists are still bound behind his back, and his mouth tastes of crimson and salt. The reverends come to him periodically, punctuating his catatonic day with taunting, beatings, anything to flood his mind with fury. Mark is no fool. He understands their scheming. He knows they’re trying to raise darkness in his core that Lucifer would covet. He’s falling right into their hands by letting the anger overpower, and yet…

            They come to him in their gilded gowns, burn the satanic sigil of Baphomet on the bare skin of his back with branding irons as if he were cattle on a factory farm. He never screams, his pride miraculously keeps his jaw hinged shut, but when he smells his own singing flesh, all he could think of is murder: the reverend’s faces reduced to a bouquet of tendon and bone under his boot, the white hot iron sealing their eyes shut with the glue of their own melted corneas.

            _Have strength, young vessel. You won’t have to suffer for much longer._ They say. They’re waiting for the moon to reach its fullest state before the attempted summoning. They mean to say, Mark won’t have to suffer for much longer because whether he succeeds or fails, he will be gone. He doesn’t know which is worse, losing his psyche to a king of hell, or being rejected and dying right there on the spot. So many hours. He is so thirsty. He wants to cry but doesn’t dare waste his water on tears.

            Another day gone, his cheek on the ground again. The burned skin of his back is beginning to shed and itch, but he can’t do anything about it. The reverends come with a small dish of water and porridge. They place it on the ground with no utensils. They don’t offer to untie Mark’s hands.

            _Can’t have you dying quite yet,_ they say cheerfully as he laps the water like a dog on his knees, too desperate for pride.

            **I hate them. I _hate_ them. **

All he can see is red. But still, he can’t help but feel smug. Because though the clerics had gotten him, he’d bought Taeyong, Jaehyun and the other hyungs enough time to get away. He’d made sure the Holy Sector had taken no prisoners but himself. He has only to think of his friend’s escape to push back the tides of overwhelming darkness that threaten his shores. He did it. For once, he saved them. For brief moments, he feels happy.

            And then the reverends are back again with an old, rusty projector. They’re playing him video recording after video recording of attempts at summoning Lucifer. Mark has never seen such carnage, the poor prisoners in the grainy recordings sobbing as they recite in Latin, their hands shaking because they know, just know that they cannot possibly succeed. The unnaturally tall shadow of a demon unfurls before them momentarily before abruptly disappearing. And then the failed summoners are erupting from within, their chests caving into a gaping mouth of sinew and viscera, igniting slowly in black fire. It takes them too long to die, red spreading across the whites of their eyes as the blood vessels release, and oh god, if Mark has to watch another recording, he will surely, surely go mad. He will absolutely—

            _Let this be motivation for you to succeed with the summoning. We have high hopes for you. The past summoners were weak willed, but you are different_ , the reverends say after Mark has emptied his stomach. The videos finally flicker off and his cell is flooded in gorgeous silence.

            _What the hell is wrong with you people?_ Mark asks, his voice wavering. He is much too young to be living what he is living. He is hardly eighteen, just barely a man. It’s a miracle his mind hasn’t given away yet. _You’re supposed to be men of God, what the fuck is wrong with you all? Why are you doing this?_

The reverends smile, their faces frighteningly sweet, a mask of benevolence.

            _Don’t you understand how much greater the power of the church can be with Lucifer under its command? No other demon could dare threaten us, we can expand the sector, and obliterate the cults that thrive outside these walls, cast all other demons back to where they belong. A few lives sacrificed in exchange for the safety of many. Don’t you see, this is holy work. We will be forgiven._

Mark watches them go, the door locking shut behind them. He breathes slowly to keep his mind in. From somewhere in the adjacent chapels, organ music swells and recedes like a tide. He can hear the high din of the choir singing along, _Glory glory, Hallelujah,_ such startling beauty in a wrecked place.

 

~~

 

            Johnny could hear his heart hammering in his ears as he looked around the round table he was sitting stiffly at. To his right was Taeil and Jeno, to his left, an extremely bewildered Kun and Doyoung. All around them, were people masked and robed so thoroughly that Johnny could hardly even make out their body types. Their eerie goat head masks hid all of their features except the curves of their mouths, rendering them completely anonymous. Johnny felt strangely naked, sitting at the table with his face exposed as clear as day, but he knew he had no right to ask these individuals to reveal themselves. After all, they were the guests here.

            “I am happy Lilith found you well.” The one that sat at the head of the table said, stroking the blackbird that was happily perched on his shoulder. Lilith cocked its glossy head to the side as if in agreement before ruffling its tar black feathers.  

            “Thank you for sending for us.” Taeil said, his voice delicate and uncertain. It reminded Johnny so violently of back when Taeil had been a celebrity, he was using the same camera shy voice he used during interviews of which he didn’t want to be a part. “I didn’t expect for the coordinates on your letter to lead us so close to the possession pulpit though.”

            After Taeil had practically unhinged the door running back into their home after receiving the blackbird’s letter, they all followed the coordinates Taeil had memorized. Taeil didn’t know where it would lead, but he certainly didn’t expect it to lead right back to the pulpit where the possessions were tied to stakes in the city center. Right where he had nearly untied the possessed teenage boy earlier that day. Following the directions on the note, they managed to find a patch of loose cobblestones that, when rearranged, opened up a stairwell to an underground passage. They’d found the meeting place of The Seculars, a fringe group that until that very day, Johnny had no idea even existed. Sure, in his more fanciful moments he dreamed there was a resistance group to the tyrannical corruption of the church, but he could never bring himself to actually believe it. The power of the church in the Holy sector was too strong, too absolute. People were too scared to rebel, they’d watched too many public executions to be daring. And yet here they were, in a headquarters of a secular group that aimed to topple the church’s power.

            “Yes, the area underneath the possession pulpit is really the only suitable meeting place for us in this city, unfortunately. It’s the only place that is not completely purified by the Holy wards. The dark energy of the possessed individuals lend balance to the air.” The man at the head of the table said, his voice oddly effeminate and lovely. He sounded like spring. “You see, we have a demon in our midst that wouldn’t do well anywhere else in this sector. In fact he can barely get by even here, his power is quite crippled by all of this suffocating holy.”

            Johnny felt Jeno stiffen beside him, his eyes sweeping the round table for said demon, but everyone was masked and swathed. He couldn’t possibly tell.

            A ripple of laughter went around the table at Jeno’s obvious fright.

            “Don’t be scared boy, we wouldn’t call you here just to put you in harm’s way. We mean only to offer you a place in our ranks, that is, only if you care for it.”

            “You know what they plan to do to Mark.” Taeil blurted out abruptly, his face still nervous but slowly beginning to thaw. He didn’t care for small talk now. He wanted to know what they knew. He needed to know why Mark was being held.

            The man with the effeminate voice slowly nodded his horned mask. “We know what they plan to do with the boy, and would like very much to stop them. But as we are now, our hands are tied. We need help from elsewhere. We need to recruit people from outside the Holy Sector that will be willing to fight for us. Our intel told us of your meeting with your loved ones from outside the walls, how you demonstrated such undying loyalty to one another. If we provide you a means to communicate with them, we believe they will offer us the allegiance we need. What do you say?”

            They looked around at one another, their faces registering a kaleidoscope of emotion: fright, hope, confusion. The Seculars were being extremely vague. But one truth rang out above their heads, sharp and undeniable. They had nothing left to lose. Even if The Seculars ended up being evil, how much more evil could they possibly be than the people who had tried to slit Jaehyun’s throat, who took Mark, then Jaemin and Donghyuk away from them? If there was even a single shred of possibility to save them, they had to take the risk, there was nothing else left for them.

            They nodded solemnly and in unison, their faces illuminated by the lanterns swinging overhead.

            “Somehow I knew you wouldn’t refuse.” The man at the head of the table said, his voice sweet and airy. “Bring wine, let us toast our new recruits.”

            He was unraveling the black cloth that was swaddling his body until only a simple tunic remained. Then he reached behind his head, unhooking the horned mask until it fell away. All around him, the others were doing the same, revealing their faces; many of which Johnny recognized from the markets and the chapel, but he could hardly focus on them because the mask was off of the one with the sweet voice; the obvious leader.

            _He’s the demon. Of course he is._

            His unearthly beauty gave him away, so lovely he was almost disgusting; his features so delicate it could have been a woman’s face. And the horns had not been a part of the mask, they sprouted from his head: sloped, black and curled like a ram. Someone was passing him a carafe of wine, all around him a whirlwind of activity, but even through all this, the demon’s voice cut through the sound like a clear knife:

            “They mean to make your spirited young friend a vessel for the Demon king Lucifer. Once they merge, the church means to seize control of him. I cannot allow this to happen. Not to my king.”

            And suddenly Johnny was choking on his wine, his throat absolutely burning from the alcohol, but all he could hear was a litany of two words: Lucifer, Mark. Lucifer, Mark.

            No. No. No.

            Kun faltered in his seat, a cool wash of horror on his face. The crow flew towards them as if drawn by the verve of their emotion, its beady eyes staring. Above them, the body of the possessed teenage boy finally gave in to fatigue. His skin smoked and blistered where the holy water touched it, the scripture playing from the loudspeakers drew crimson from his ears. He closed his bright red eyes and  died without witness in the night.

 

~

**Excerpt from Ars Goetia, S.L MacGregor Mathers**

The Ninth Spirit in this Order is Paimon, a Great King, and very obedient unto LUCIFER…He hath a great Voice, and roareth at his first coming. This Spirit can teach all Arts and Sciences, and other secret things. He can discover unto thee what the Earth is, and what holdeth it up in the Waters; and what Mind is, and where it is; or any other thing thou mayest desire to know. He giveth Dignity, and confirmeth the same. He hath under him 200 Legions of Spirits, and part of them are of the Order of Angels.     


	10. Day 422

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is so short! I've started a new part time job (along with school having started up again) so updates from here on out may be a bit less regular. Thank you to everyone who has been commenting and reading, your words really do mean a lot to me and keep me motivated to keep on with this crazy/ messy/ ill planned story. (Also Yusol somehow snuck into this story. Also unplanned, but it happened. hehe) Have a safe week everyone! xoxo- Joojoobe

~

Day 422

~

            No matter how long they boiled, the pink stains would no longer lift from the rags; testament to how dire their injuries, how long they couldn’t staunch their bleeding. Yuta fished out the sanitized rags from the water, let them cool before wringing them to light dampness. Gingerly folding the rag into fourths, he dabbed away the sweat from Jaehyun’s brow, his neck, the bony divot of his sternum in which the undulation of every bone was visible beneath his pale skin. When had Jaehyun gotten to be so skinny? Why was the landscape of his body so mottled with softly purpled bruises that he’d never seen before? Why, even after three days, was he not waking up?

            Placing the cool rag on his forehead, Yuta pressed a tender hand to Jaehyun’s gaunt cheek. He couldn’t help but remember how the younger had been before Day 0; how boisterous and talkative and voracious he was. Now the magnitude of how much he had truly changed was hitting Yuta in waves. He had noticed a change in demeanor, sure. But he’d chalked it up to an unavoidable by-product of their circumstances. How dismissive he had been. How utterly callous.  

            “Is he doing any better?” a voice asked from the doorway. Yuta didn’t need to turn to know it was Hansol. He didn’t want to face him with his guilt laden eyes.

            “His fever is receding, but he’s still not waking.”

            Hansol sat down heavily beside him, taking delicate light breaths. The clerics had splintered a few ribs during their altercation, and any sudden movement or deep breath sent jolts of pain up and down his side. Still, Hansol couldn’t find it in himself to complain. Not when Jaehyun had been unconscious for three days straight, and Mark was still trapped in the Holy Sector being subjected to God knows what. He closed his eyes tight, trying to dispel the litany of images that paraded his mind. Mark beaten, Mark starving, Mark suffering…

            It was almost too much to bear. If Hansol was any less rational, he would have probably already marched upon the Holy Sector gates, tried to scale the wall, do anything to try to find their youngest. But his mind would always call him back before he became too wrapped in that fantasy. Even if they breached the Holy sector, then what? How would they know where to find Mark? And by what means would they overpower the security that would undoubtedly not hesitate to kill them on sight. They were impotent. Useless. And besides, everyone was suffering from different degrees of injury. Taeyong and Yuta were concussed, a three inch gash just barely beginning to clot and heal on Taeyong’s right temple. Ten’s nose was broken, his eyelids swelled and black from the fracture internally blossoming blood near the divot of his tear ducts. And Jaehyun hadn’t moved in days, his skin simultaneously clammy and hot. His already pale face somehow even paler, bloodless.

            “Your palms are bleeding.” Yuta said, glancing at the open gash on Hansol’s left hand. He had just replenished the blood pentagram on the outer wall of their home, in the flurry of the last few days, it had been neglected and faded. It wasn’t his turn, it was Winwin’s. But Winwin had been inconsolable for the past few days, so Hansol had quietly taken care of it himself expecting nothing, not even acknowledgement in return. How typical of him. Yuta gently took his cut hand in his own. “Let me take care of you.”

            For a while they sat in hurt silence, Yuta rubbing an astringent homemade balm of eucalyptus and honey across the gash to sterilize and soothe it before wrapping it tightly in gauze. It didn’t take long for Hansol to realize that Yuta’s hands were shaking as they worked, his grasp on the gauze periodically faltering under his tremor. Hansol closed his injured hand around Yuta’s, hardly noticing that his grasp was bloodying Yuta’s palm, staining the cuff of the younger’s sleeve red, but he didn’t seem to mind. He grasped Hansol’s hand like a life line, opening and closing his mouth like a beached thing of the sea; afraid to articulate what he needed to articulate. But Yuta had never been one to be able to censor himself for long, not when he was so burdened with worry. It was selfish of him, but he couldn’t bear to suffer this anxiety alone any longer. He had to have someone shoulder some of the burden, even if it would hurt them. So selfish. So very selfish, but he knew Hansol would hear him out. He always did.

            “Hansol…” Yuta said, his voice low and wavering, like a last candle in the dark. He cleared his throat, willed himself to speak again, but louder. “Hansol. What if he never wakes up?”

            Hansol had imagined Yuta would ask something like this, but the words still struck him like riptide. He wasn’t ready, would never be ready. The possibility that he’d forced himself to not even consider crashing over him in waves. They wouldn’t be able to give him a burial, but would have to cremate him so no ghost could decide to seize control of his body. There were no crematoreums anymore, so they would have to do it themselves, built the pyre, set fire to his beloved body with their own hands. God, no. He relaxed his fingers as if to pull away from Yuta’s grasp, as if it was burning him, but Yuta clung tight; desperate.

            “Hansol what do we do if he doesn’t wake up?” Yuta’s voice was on the precipice of breaking. “What do we do if he doesn’t wake up, and we’ve already lost Mark. We’ve lost Mark and if we lose Jaehyun too then we’ve failed our two y-youngest and..”

            “We haven’t lost Mark, he’s still alive.”

            _You don’t know that for sure._

            “We’re going to get him back soon. We will.”

            _How? When? For all you know, they’ve executed him already and have displayed him city center by the stigmata of his palms._

            Hansol shook his head, trying to dispel the voice of paranoia, but it kept whispering to him. And Yuta’s almost hysteric rambling wasn’t helping.

            “It’s been three days, Hansol. Three days. He’s not going to wake up. We should never have gone there. We should have known from the first moment the holy water touched our lips and burned our throats going down. We’re tainted with evil now. I know I must be evil because I…I…”

            His grip kept tightening, and an unnamable fear flared in Hansol’s chest. Yuta was losing it, he was breaking apart and he didn’t know how to help keep him together.

            “Let go, Yuta.” Hansol said, trying to keep his voice even as he gently tried to pull his hand away. His cut palm was searing in Yuta’s vice grip, but it was the look in his eyes that truly unnerved him. There had always been a very thin trip-wire of grief in Yuta ever since the first night when he’d had to kill their manager hyung. It was always there: indescribable guilt and trauma, a very thin veil of composure that Hansol knew had to rip eventually. Now. It was happening now.

            “We’re going to die Hansol. No one can survive for long in a world like this anymore. It’s a miracle we’ve survived even this long. It’s only a matter of time. We’re going to be picked off one by one and…” his eyes flooded with hysteria. Hansol couldn’t feel his hands, could barely recognize Yuta’s voice for the hysteria in it. “I’m fucking scared. I’m scared that I can’t do anything about it except dumbly stand by and watch..”

            His eyes began to roam, searching Hansol’s wide brown ones for a moment before turning to fall on Jaehyun’s prone form. He watched his face crumple, flood with grief and he was finally, finally relinquishing his grip on Hansol’s hand. His knees buckled and he was crying on the floor because this was too much, nothing could have prepared him for what his life had become. Hansol was rooted to the spot for a moment, the selfish part of him wanting to turn and run out of the room. He felt his feet turn a fraction of an inch towards the door, the greedy bone of his body screaming at him to leave, to worry only for himself for once. But Yuta was crying, his whole body wracked in tremors like it had been on that first night when he’d sunk the knife through their possessed manager’s throat, and they’d always, always been together. Before Hell broke open, and after. Through every sunless day, through all the salt and demonic possessions, through every cup of wine drunk in hopes to pretend that all was just like before. And Hansol was falling to his knees, throwing his arms around Yuta’s quivering shoulders, pressing his face to his chest. Oh god, how could he even have entertained the thought of leaving him in this state?

            Yuta’s hands balled in the fabric of Hansol’s shirt. His voice was tremulous, like a child.

            “Don’t leave.” He said. “Don’t leave me alone.”

            Hansol held him closer, but said nothing. After all that had happened, how could he possibly promise that? The mere possibility of a long life was improbable. A luxury of the past.

            When he’d cried himself out, Hansol tucked Yuta into Mark’s bed, reforming the salt ring around the mattress so there were no breaks in the formation. He watched the moon, realized with a start that he’d grown to hate it. He drank rice liquor, listened to the quiet murmur of Ten and Winwin’s anxiety drenched conversation. Drunk, he stumbled to Jaehyun’s door and found Taeyong draped over him on the bed, a tangle of limbs, the moon reflecting opal in his brown hair.  He was whispering something, as if the sheer will of his words alone could draw Jaehyun from whatever ether he was suspended in.

            Hansol understood love when he saw it, even when it was not plainly spoken. He moved away, not wanting to eavesdrop, but he still heard snatches of what Taeyong was whispering: _I’ve got to do it. I’m sorry. I lov—_

              Outside their window, a blackbird watched their moving forms. It watched them move in love and in fear, watched them hold each other’s bodies close, dab blood from wounds, fall asleep with hands clasped for comfort. The crow recognized their faces from a grainy, many times folded photograph shown to it. It flexed its talons, a black letter folded tightly against its dark feathers and took flight.

 

~

            When all were sleeping, Taeyong finally unfurled his body from Jaehyun’s still unconscious form. Reverently, he ran his hand down his pale cheek. His fever had dropped considerably since the first day he had fallen unconscious, filling Taeyong with a small pearl of hope.

            _Wake up. Please do. I’m sorry I’m inadequate. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe._

            Taeyong got up from the bed with a creak of the springs. Jaehyun looked so lovely, as if he were in a deep, restful slumber. For once the tension lines between his eyes weren’t furrowed. He looked peaceful again, childlike. Taeyong’s heart opened like an accordion.

            _When you wake, I’ll be worthy. I’ll be capable of protecting you all._

            Taeyong strapped knives to his belt, filled his pockets with salt, rope, Latin summoning scriptures. The blood was pounding in his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was the concussion or the anxiety that was making him see double, but his vision swam because oh god, he was going to kill someone tonight. But he had to. He could see no other way.

            He fled into the night, folded into the alleys like a vulture’s shadow. He left before he could see Jaehyun’s fingers beginning to twitch, after three long days, coming alive again.


	11. Day 423

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some references to drug use in this chapter, so if that offends you please read with caution. Thank you so much for reading and commenting. I appreciate all of your words and reading your thoughts always keeps me motivated to keep writing. Hope everyone has a great weekend <3

~~

Day 423

~~

            Jaehyun dreamt of hands traversing the landscape of his body, reaching between his legs; red ache of something taken. His body was unimaginably hot and cold at the same time, the thin veil of sweat on his skin igniting and chilling him in cycles. All around him he saw the wine red eyes of those who impinged upon him again and again for months, heard voices whispered in hunger.

            _Don’t look away_

_Open for me_

_Open_

            He’d been floating in the ether for so long, he wanted to wake up. He wanted desperately to see the look of warmth in an eye and nothing more. Not lust, not possession. He wanted more than anything to see Taeyong’s face lit with the sweet lamp of fondness without desire. Jaehyun gasped around his own dry throat, his body was finally coming alive; three days worth of nightmares condensing into a vortex that roared in his ears. And then abruptly it was gone and his eyes were opening, staring at the water damaged ceiling of his room. He moved a bit, his hands balling into fists in the blanket because, god damn, his body was in pain; aching from disuse. His blankets inexplicably smelled like Taeyong’s familiar grassy musk. He buried his face in the sheets, breathing deeply to fortify himself before pushing his body up into sitting position. There was a small basin of water beside his bedside. Someone must have left it there in case he woke. He drank like a desperate desert animal, then used the rest to cleanse the sleep from his eyes.

              The fishhook of memory was stabbing into him again and again in small bouts. He remembered going to the gate of the holy sector. He remembered beaked masks, the overwhelming gold of all the crosses, how his very skin seemed to singe where it touched holy water. Then the recollections became more fragmented. He remembered an indescribable pain shooting through his chest. He had hit the floor, he thought he would die from all the pain. And then someone was dragging him up by fistfuls of his hair, placing a knife against his throat. He’d met eyes with Mark, warned him to run. Then the reel of his memory cut out there. He couldn’t remember anything beyond that. Nothing except the vague sound of shouting, as if the chaos were submerged under water somewhere far away.

            “Taeyong.” Jaehyun tried to call. It came out as barely a croak because his throat was so raw. “Taeyong hyung”

            He smiled despite himself when he heard feet running towards his room, but it wasn’t Taeyong who opened the door. It was Ten. He burst into the room, tears of relief already coiling in his eyes. He collapsed onto the bed, wrapping a bracing arm around Jaehyun’s shoulders, he held him like a life line repeating “Thank god, thank god.”

               Jaehyun pulled back, the slight sting of disappointment already disappearing as he cupped Ten’s face between his hands.

                “Your eyes!” He gasped at the purple bruises that marred the skin around both eyes. It looked painful and awful, but Ten’s smile still lit his face like a beacon.

              “Nevermind my eyes, you’re awake. Thank goodness.” Ten said as more footsteps cascaded into the room. Yuta, Hansol and Winwin burst through, their faces brighter than he remembered the sun being, and they all converged together in a tangle of limbs. For a very brief moment, every anxiety and horror was forgotten. Outside the moon flexed and swelled, slowly inching its way towards a full moon. Winwin’s hand in his, Jaehyun squeezed and looked at each of their faces one by one until it slowly dawned on him.

            “Where’s Mark? Where’s Taeyong?”

               All of their faces darkened and Jaehyun felt his heart drop as Hansol slowly explained what had happened after Jaehyun had fallen unconscious at the Holy sector: Mark’s rage, how he had been dragged away, how they themselves had barely managed to escape before the clerics seized them as well. That would explain all of their injuries, the horrified look in their eyes that was more intense than usual.

               “But what about Taeyong? Where is he?”

                The others looked around in confusion. In the whirlwind of relief at Jaehyun’s awakening, they had failed to notice that Taeyong was not among them. But of course Taeyong would be the first to come running when Jaehyun woke up. He would always be the first to come running, offering a hand, warm drinks, anything he could give in love or comfort. So where was he now?

                 Despite still being fogged from wine, Hansol’s memory finally clicked. Just a little more than an hour ago, he had seen Taeyong draped across Jaehyun’s unconscious body. He had been stroking the hair back from the younger’s brow, muttering to him in a low voice wracked with anxiety: _I’ve got to do it. I’m sorry. I lov—_

                 Hansol had left before he could hear the rest, not wanting to impinge on their private moment, but the true weight behind Taeyong’s words hit him like a freight train.

                 I’ve got to do it. I’ve got to do it.

                 There was no other explanation for why he would say those words. He was going to invoke a demon. He would do it to save Mark, keep all of them safe no matter what the personal cost.

                  His hands shook as he opened his mouth to speak:

                 “He’s gone.”

 

~

 

            The target made it really too easy, wandering around the emptied out streets alone. He was stumbling, blabbering to himself in a languid drawl; drunk, uninhibited, hopped up on opiates. Some people were just like this, unable to cope with what their lives had become, many fell to rely on booze and drugs. As Taeyong watched him from around the corner, he studied the middle aged man’s face: he was rail thin and balding at the crown of his head. Even from the distance, Taeyong could tell that he was missing some teeth. Taeyong tried to imagine the man as he may have been before the underworld opened: he was probably just a normal citizen, a part of the work force. An accountant? A Lawyer? Taeyong tried to imagine him in a suit and tie, his face still round and whole before he’d fallen to narcotics, but it was impossible. All he could see was the ruins of a man, spinning around and around by himself in the middle of an alley, euphoric from the opiates in his blood, the blossoming bruise at the crook of his arm where he’d injected himself with the drug. Taeyong pitied him. That could have easily been his route, had he not had the support of his bandmates. But the pity would not stop him from doing what he would have to do.

            Taeyong stepped out from the shadows, gripping a blade behind his back as he stepped towards the stranger. Perhaps he didn’t notice the knife, but he didn’t put up a fight. The man’s jaw went slack at Taeyong’s beauty, such stark contrast to the hideous dilapidated alleys around them; a lotus blooming in a swamp. Perhaps it was the opium high that propelled him, but he stumbled towards Taeyong, reached out to touch his face. Taeyong let him, he didn’t squall at the man’s toothless smiling, his vacant eyes, the knowledge that his drug fueled high would probably not last much longer, and he would feel everything when Taeyong killed him. It was only fair that he allow this stranger to experience one last joy; to hold a thing he desired but could never have between his palms.

            “What is your name?” Taeyong asked gently, and the man took a long time to respond, his calloused hands petting Taeyong’s soft cheek, a covetous look in his eyes. Even if he was to be sacrificed, he was still a person. Taeyong would dignify his death by remembering his name, by carving it into his heart and carrying the guilt with him forever.

            “Byunwoo” The man said before pressing his mouth against Taeyong’s. He let him. He tasted like gunpowder and cigarettes. He tasted like every destroyed thing, every decimated city, every corpse left to rot by the side of the road. The man was gripping his jaw so hard, Taeyong was sure it would bruise purple fingerprints on his skin, he bit his lip so hard, he tasted blood. It hurt, brought tears to his eyes, but he knew deep down that he deserved it.

            _I’m sorry Byunwoo, dear stranger. I will never forgive myself for what I’m about to do._

            Without breaking the kiss, Taeyong unfurled the length of rope from his pocket, looped it around the man’s neck, and pulled.

 

~~

            Jaehyun felt the blood hammering in his ears as they ran, five pairs of feet thundering down the alleyway as they searched for Taeyong. His aching body was screaming at him to stop and rest, but he couldn’t. He had to keep going.

            He couldn’t believe what was happening, and kept praying to every god he no longer believed to please, please let Hansol be mistaken. Please. But it was no use, every bone in his body was convinced that Hansol was right, that Taeyong was trying to summon a demon. He would never randomly leave the house without letting someone know where he was going. He would never leave Jaehyun without good reason. But most of all, he would never be able to sit idly by as Mark was imprisoned.

            “He must be heading to the town peripherals, near the killing trees to make the sacrifice.” Hansol said between breaths, he was sprinting ahead, despite the splintered ribs that labored his panting. “He’s probably going to do it away from the city to minimize destruction in the case that he….. that might fail.”

            Hansol was right, or course. High ranking demons hated being invoked by humans they don’t deem worthy. If a summoning failed, the results could be disasterous. Jaehyun had seen one too many scenes of failed invocations, the shattered skulls, the cobblestones awash in blood and loosened viscera. Of course Taeyong would take precautions to make sure no innocent passerby got caught in the crosshairs if things went awry.

            Jaehyun felt the panic lace tears through his lashes. He was so scared, he could hardly think linear thoughts. All he could do was remember; little snapshots of moments they had shared in the past few months, where they desired but did not dare claim. The moments when they lapsed, traced kisses along each other’s throat, and promised themselves to never again the next day. Taeyong had never pushed farther than what Jaehyun initiated, as if terrified to trespass upon him in the same way the Lilin-demons did. And so they had only hovered around the territory of love, never letting themselves land in it. What if something happened to Taeyong now without Jaehyun ever getting the chance to say what he needed to say? He couldn’t even conceptualize the pain of that.

            The buildings around them were beginning to get increasingly more spare as they left city center. In the distance, they could see the copse of the killing trees that lined the junkyard where Taeyong and Mark used to collect scrap metal.

            “Hurry.” Yuta gasped and they pushed on even faster, their lungs screaming at them for mercy but they pushed on. Overhead the clouds were blotting out even the light of the moon. There was only darkness. A crow was flying overhead, screeching. For some reason, Jaehyun swore that crow had been following them ever since they first left the house to find Taeyong, but that was probably impossible, a mere figment of his addled thoughts.

            They were near the trees now, they could see the rotted, halved bodies of the goats that the civilians strung to the branches to lure wildcats away from the city. Most of them were past decay, little more than skin and exposed bone. And beyond the killing trees, Jaehyun saw him. Taeyong, his eyes alight with fear and determination. Even from the distance, Jaehyun could read his exact expression. There was a man at his feet, trussed and bound like a pig for slaughter. He was visibly struggling and whimpering as and Taeyong unsheathed his blade, raised it high above his head.

            “Taeyong!” Yuta cried out, his voice oddly pitched in desperation. Taeyong startled, looking up at his friends in disbelief. A myriad of emotions flickered across his eyes: fear, guilt, sadness, then determination overrode them all and his eyes glassed over. Taeyong raised the knife again, but before it can make its arc downwards to the bound man’s chest, Jaehyun sprinted forward, colliding with Taeyong and sending them both onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. Taeyong’s face registered a very brief flicker of relief to see Jaehyun awake, but there was something else in his face as well. Was it shame? A hint of madness? Yes, Jaehyun could definitely see a flicker of something insane in Taeyong as they wrestled for the knife of the ground.

            “Taeyong stop, you don’t have to do this!” Jaehyun sobbed as he held on to Taeyong’s wrists, trying to pin him down, but oh God, Taeyong was thrashing so hard. His determination was making him strong. Jaehyun could barely hold on.

            “Get off me! There’s no other way.” Taeyong said, landing a vicious kick into Jaehyun’s stomach. The younger gasped, coughing, curling his knees to his chest, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t let Taeyong do this. No.

            “I can’t.” He gasped, feeling blood in his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue to keep from crying out when Taeyong kicked him. Above them, their four friends watched them in mute horror, their faces colored with disbelief at what they were seeing. They couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The tied up man was sobbing steadily into the coils of rope Taeyong had stuffed into his mouth, the opiate high had run out and now he was terrified of the beautiful boy who let himself be kissed, an angel of death.

            And Taeyong was sobbing too, dry, tearless sobs that originated from somewhere primitive and frightened. He had to do it, he’d come this far. And he had to save Mark. He just had to, and there was no other way he could think of to even possibly outmatch the power of the church. He couldn’t let anyone stop him. Not even Jaehyun. Not even his love.

            He raised his blade, but this time didn’t aim for the bound and gagged man, he aimed for Jaehyun, swiping a shallow gash across the younger’s chest. It wasn’t enough to cause serious injury, but it would definitely scar. The blood spilled in hot rivulets down his chest, and Jaehyun loosened his vice grip of Taeyong, his hands scrabbling at his wound in disbelief because his hyung had caused it. His hyung who was never anything other than gentle with him. His hyung who never dared let his hands wander for fear of bringing trauma to his surface. Taeyong threw his stunned body off of him, and Jaehyun could only remember the gentleness with which they had kissed that first night in the alley. How had things come to this?

            “There’s no other way. I have to save Mark.” Taeyong whispered, his mouth a bit bloodied from their bout. His knife finally found the intended target, plunging into his chest and then carving in and around, a rough circle and a star trapped within it. The man’s screams cleaved the night air like a siren but no one would come. They were too far from the city center, and even if anyone could hear, they would not come, they would hide.

            “Jaehyun, get back.” Yuta said, hooking an arm through his and pulling him away from Taeyong, his eyes alight with fear.

            Taeyong was reciting an invocation in Latin, he’d memorized it for this occasion, and suddenly the carved pentagram on the man’s chest was glowing, emitting white light, and abruptly began to rupture, opening like a flower’s petals reach towards light. But here, there were no petals, only leaves of flesh, a center of organ and bone, and the man was still screaming as the light escape his body, a direct portal to the underworld opening. And then, abruptly there was no man, there was only the tattered remnants of a sacrificed body on the floor, and in its place was a long shadow rising unnervingly tall  from the tatters of skin streaked across the concrete.

            A demon. And a powerful one. It was unmistakable. Jaehyun could feel it from the incredible dark miasma that was practically pulsing from its indistinct figure. But which demon, he wasn’t sure. Probably wouldn’t be sure until it bound itself with Taeyong.

            Yuta’s hand was tightening in his own, unspeakable fear flooding over all of them as they watched Taeyong stand before the demon. But Taeyong did not squall. He stood with his shoulders back, his eyes cold and steady; worthy. The seconds dragged on, and for a moment, Jaehyun thought Taeyong would be rejected. That they would all be slaughtered where they stood. But the demon was reaching out a shadowy hand, a deep voice ringing out into the void, straight into their minds.

            _You are very brave to impinge upon me, young master._

            Taeyong extended his hand to meet the demons, and as soon as they touched, he doubled over, clutching his chest as the darkness of the demon suddenly entered him like black smoke. He choked, in too much pain to even scream as he felt the demon invading every crevice of his mind, every inch of his skin, the very marrow of his bones. It hurt. It hurt. He felt like his very body had been doused in oil and set aflame. In his head, he heard laughing; wild and uncontrollable laughing, and he barely noticed that he himself was chuckling and gasping and whimpering aloud. His vision was awash in a strange drenched quality, and he could see the horrified faces of his friends watching him, but they didn’t dare draw close. They were scared, of course they were. He wanted to tell them that he was okay, but the words just died in his throat. The demon was toying with his, closing off his throat, forcing him to clench and unclench his fingers as if to prove that his body was not only under his command anymore. It now had two masters. He clutched his head as if it would break.

            _Who are you?_ Taeyong asked in his mind knowing the demon would hear.

            **Ose.**

            Taeyong wracked his memory of demonology. Ose, the demon of madness and insanity. Why had he come to him? Was he losing his mind? He heard deep laughter in his head.

            **I am not who you were hoping for. But rejoice, young human. I am powerful. Many have tried and failed to couple with me.**

            _Then why did you accept my call?_

            **Your ambition drew me. The years have grown tedious, and I wish to be entertained.**

            _I didn’t summon you so I can be a minstrel._

            Ose was laughing in his head again, derisive, cruel laughter.

            **I will help you achieve your goals. But remember half of your life span will be mine. Do you still accept this coupling?**

            _Yes._

            **You are very brave. Then the deal is done. Do not bore me.**

            Then as abruptly as Ose’s voice had infiltrated his head, it was suddenly gone. The strange bleary quality of his eyes had cleared and the pain abruptly left his body. Still, there was the distinct feeling that his body was not only his anymore. He still felt the presence in his head, even if he couldn’t see or hear it. The demon was definitely occupying him. He unfolded his bloody hands from his head, lifted his eyes. Despite the utter darkness, his vision was sharpened, as if he had the night vision of a cat. It was almost as if the world was doused in milky light.

            “Taeyong?” A hesitant voice called out. It was Winwin. He stepped forward hesitantly. Everyone else was looking at him with distrust, but only Winwin seemed naively trusting.

As he drew closer, Winwin gasped as he saw Taeyong’s eyes. The color had changed, bright gold like a candle flame. Distinctly feline, they looked like the eyes of a leopard. Such unnerving loveliness.

            “Taeyong?” he asked again, extending a slightly quivering hand. Taeyong reached out, touched Winwin’s fingertips with his own, like a father would do.

            “I’m here.”

~~

**Excerpt from _Pseudomonarchia daemonum_ – Johann Wier (1583) (quoted)**

Ose [Oze] is a great president, and commeth forth like a leopard, and counterfeting to be a man, he maketh one cunning in the liberal sciences, he answereth truelie of divine and secret things, he transformeth a mans shape, and bringeth man to madnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly was so torn about which goetic demon I wanted Taeyong to invoke. I had three possibilities: Beelzebub (greed/ gluttony), Ose (insanity) or Asmodeus (lust). I ended up going with Ose because I think insanity would add an interesting layer to the story. I'd love to know who you guys thought it would be before the reveal!


	12. Day 423- Ose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you've been well. Thank you all so much for the overhwlemingly kind comments, they really made me smile this week (which was very needed because this week has been really rough). This chapter is kind of a turning point in the story where things will really start getting even darker, so I hope you're ready for the ride. It's been getting more and more difficult to write this story, but I hope I can finish it up well ^^ Have a great weekend and don't be shy to let me know what you think! I'm always looking for ways to improve :)

~~

Day 423

~~

            It was cold. Jaemin felt his ribcage labor to draw and release breath, and he could feel his body wracked in delicate tremors. He’d always hated the cold. Even before the world had ruptured into chaos, he had always been that token classmate that swathed themselves in all too many scarves and gloves. Mark used to tease him. _Nana the polar bear,_  he’d call him when he’d arrive to school wrapped in white woolen hats, but by the end of the day, they were standing by roadside stalls together warming themselves with fish-cake soup and hot tea. In his delirium, Jaemin could almost imagine himself there now, the heat of the soup fogging his eyes, the redolent smell of green onion and anchovy stock, Mark’s pitched laughter as they joked about who even knows what. He felt his eyes misting over with unspilled tears. He missed those days. He missed those light hearted moments when his greatest worry was how he was going to go to dance practice and finish his homework in time. He missed Mark and his awkward charm. He missed everything about the past.  

             “Nana. Nana? Are you okay?” Donghyuk was using his cutesy nickname. How unlike him. Jaemin shifted his vacant gaze towards Donghyuk. He wanted to smile in affirmation but couldn’t. He was too weak. He’d always been thin, but now his whole body was shivering, his flimsy, thread-bare robe doing little to keep away the chill. They’d been in captivity for four days. Four full days of being kept in the dark with no information about what had happened to the rest of their friends. The last thing they witnessed was Mark being dragged away by the clerics. And then they had been hit across the head with something heavy and dragged away. When they woke, they were in a small cellar, freezing and alone to watch the arc and descent of the moon. Sometimes the reverends or clerics brought them water or a simple gruel of watered down rice. Sometimes a particular reverend watched Jaemin’s worn out form with a covetous eye, but would leave just before Donghyuk’s tightly wound temper could flare. It was clear that the reverends were overwhelmed with something. For once, there was something else occupying their mind other than drinks and food and young bodies to trespass upon. Donghyuk wasn’t sure if he was relieved or frightened. Either way, they were left alone for hour long stretches at a time. No one had even come to tend to their injuries.

             Donghyuk was more or less fine, the blow to his head having been superficial. But Jaemin had struggled just a bit harder as they were dragged away, had been hit harder as punishment. Donghyuk had done his best to wipe away the blood from the gash on his head with some torn fabric from his robe. He’d spit on the cotton and held it against the cut, hoping that what he’d heard about the antisceptic properties of spit was true. Because what the fuck would he do if Jaemin’s small wound actually became infected, infiltrated his blood, made him sick? Jaemin had never been a model of good health, had always been a bit frail. An untreated infection could very well do him in. And Donghyuk would never forgive himself.

              “Nana? Answer me, you punk.” Donghyuk said, his voice much weaker than his words. Jaemin smiled weakly, gripping Donghyuk’s sleeve.

             “I’m still alive, for now.” He croaked sarcastically, and he felt Donghyuk relax, all the strength leeching out of his limbs.

             “Thank god.”

             “You know better than to thank god.” Jaemin said as he struggled to sit up, letting his back rest against the wall. His body was aching, felt both hot and cold all over, the tell-tale signs of a fever. If he were alone, he may have clutched himself and fell onto his side, groaning. But Donghyuk was watching him with uncharacteristically frightened eyes. He couldn’t needlessly worry him. He put up a strong front, willing his face to be immutable. 

            “Do you think the others are okay?” Donghyuk asked, his already delicate light voice somehow even higher, softer.

            “Can’t be any worse off than us.”

             They both chuckled grimly, watching the moon through the slats in their bars. The moon was almost full, just a thin sliver of darkness keeping it from shining its full orb.

            “Why do you think they’re keeping us here?” Donghyuk asked to complete silence because what could Jaemin possibly posit? He had stopped trying to understand the logic behind what those in their sector did. All he knew was that it couldn’t be good, but he would never voice that in front of the younger boy.

               “Donghyukie..” Jaemin said after a long stretch of silence. Outside they heard footsteps shuffling about. “Donghyuk, it’s so cold.”

             Donghyuk looked down at his hyung, his parchment white cheek, his quivering fingertips. He felt the frost of true fear beginning to seep throughout his bones because it was not cold. It felt like any other temperate autumn night. And Jaemin should not have been shivering. Not at all. He whipped off his robe, wrapping it around Jaemin who seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep.

              “You’re not cold.” Donghyuk whispered into Jaemin’s hair, drawing his unconscious friend closer as if his grip could dispel whatever ill health had come over his hyung. He felt the threat of tears in his eyes, but he was determined not to spill them. Not yet.

             “You’re not cold.”

~~

            There was a dead man at their feet, barely recognizable anymore as a man. Just a mass of mangled tendon and bone, it could have well been a picked apart animal. Only the tell-tale bulbous skull gave it away as something human. Taeyong looked down at the corpse, the man he had killed with his own two hands, and found with a startle that he was not as guilty as he thought he would be. Ose’s voice was practically purring in delight in his head at the sight of the carnage: leopard-like, hungry.

            **See it’s not so bad. A life is such a small thing, a beetle trapped under a glass. So easy to extinguish.**

“Shut up. Life _is not so_ insignificant.” Taeyong whispered aloud, and the demon was chuckling in his head, but his friends were watching him with a strangely wary expression. He realized with a start that only he could hear Ose’s voice. To his friends, it must have looked like he was talking to himself.

            “Are you… okay?” Hansol asked, doing his best to not look down at the pulped mess of a body at his feet as he walked towards Taeyong. Winwin was still holding Taeyong’s hand, rubbing comforting circles into the palm. But no one else seemed willing to come much closer. Everyone was uncertain. Even brave Hansol stayed back a few steps, keeping a hand on Winwin’s shoulder as if prepared to pull him out of the way if Taeyong or the demon inside him decided to lash out. Taeyong felt his heart breaking in small degrees. Yes, he now was inhabited by a demon, but he was still himself. He would never willingly hurt the ones he loved.

            His eyes roamed the faces of his friends. The child-like trust of Winwin, the careful wariness of Ten and Yuta and Hansol. Then his eyes fell on Jaehyun and he felt the last sinews holding his heart together rupture. Utter distrust, and could it be, anger? The younger was holding a palm to the bloody six inch gash across his chest, the entire front of his shirt drenched in blood, and Taeyong gasped as the memory of cutting him flashed across his mind. He’d done that. He’d hurt Jaehyun in an effort to get him off of him.

            Jaehyun looked down at the dead body at their feet, his blood soaked shoes, and then looked Taeyong dead in the eye, fearless, furious.

            “I hope you’re happy.” He said evenly before turning away, refusing to make eye contact. A part of Taeyong wanted to respond in anger because, no of course he was not happy, but he was doing this for them. For Mark. Why couldn’t he see that? But before he could lash out, Winwin was speaking to him again.

            “How do you feel?” He asked in his slow, even Korean. Winwin was studying Taeyong’s face. He looked the same as before except for his distinctly feline eyes, the large pupils and the golden irises that actually reflected bright like a head-light. It made sense since Ose was a demon that took on the guise of a leopard, but damn if it didn’t make Taeyong even more visually arresting than before.

            “Other than the voices in my head, I feel the same.” Taeyong said, trying to be comforting despite everything. He was lying. He didn’t feel the same. There was a dark energy in a crevice of his mind, and he was hearing all sorts of small, minute whisperings in his head. Not Ose’s commanding voice, but small, weak whispers that he couldn’t locate the origins of.

            He startled a bit as a rat suddenly streaked by his feet. And then another. And then another. Winwin jumped back a bit as dozens of emaciated black rats suddenly darted towards Taeyong, scrabbling at his feet with their little paws, the ground rippling with the sheen of their fur. Taeyong wanted to recoil, but the squeaking voices were only getting louder in his head.

            _Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry._

Ose was laughing in his head again.

            “What the fuck are you doing?” Taeyong asked aloud, not even caring that his friends were looking at him again as if he were crazy.

            **I’m not doing anything. This is all you. Now that you’ve merged with me, you hold dominion over the animal kingdom. I am the leopard demon-king after all. Part animal. And now you are too. It’s just one of the powers you’ve inherited by being my vessel.**

“Controlling a bunch of rats?”

            **Not just rats. Look there.**

Taeyong turned his head and swore his heart almost jumped into his throat. Wild-cats were loping towards them from the darkness, their reflective green eyes shining in their massive skulls. Yuta gasped and unsheathed a knife, but Taeyong reached out to steady his hand. He knew they wouldn’t attack them. He knew they would obey him now.

            As the gigantic wild cats drew near, he heard their whispering in his head, purring and deliberate, so different from the desperate squealing of the rats.

            _Master we are hungry. Nothing but spoiled meat hung up in the trees. They were rotted goats full of chrysalis and worms, but we ate and ate._

Taeyong reached out to touch the sleek fur of one of their muscled shoulders. He couldn’t believe it. The wild cat was letting itself be stroked, obediently, like a pet.

            **The animal kingdom, in many ways, is more powerful and tenacious than man. Think of how this power may serve you in achieving your goals.**

            Taeyong felt Ose retreating back to the crevice of his mind, and his mind was quiet except for the whispers of the animals.

            _Go back to where you came from._ Taeyong thought, knowing the animals could hear him. _Go back to where you came from, and wait for me to call on you._

It was like a frothy tide being ripped back to the ocean. The rats scurried away, streaming back towards the copse of trees like ripples of greased charcoal. The wildcats also turned to leave, their ribs stretching the skin of their sides taut, so desperately hungry.

            As the animals left, Jaehyun felt his knees wobbling in disbelief. This was happening. Taeyong was really not simply human anymore. He was something more. Something beastial. Something dangerous. Taeyong looked up and his eyes caught the light of the moon like a mirror, reflecting it back. So beautiful. So inhuman.

            “Let’s go home.” Taeyong whispered “Nothing has changed. Please, let’s go home.”

            Winwin was the first to reach for him, pulling him forward in the direction of home. Ten followed close behind, and then Yuta and Hansol. Jaehyun trailed a few steps behind, uncertain. His shoes were soaked in the sacrifice’s blood.

           

~~

            At home, they tried their best to fall into normalcy. Taeyong cooked a hearty dinner of braised game meat, while Winwin and Ten joked almost too exuberantly about nonsense; obviously trying to lighten to mood. Yuta and Hansol were speaking quietly in the corner, anxiety written all over their faces, but Jaehyun wasn’t even bothering to act normal. He washed up, meticulously cleansing the blood off of his chest and smearing eucalyptus honey ointment on the gash. He headed off to bed without eating, leaving one full plate of food untouched on the table. Taeyong tried to not let the stab of sadness color his expression, but he couldn’t help it. His heart was breaking.

            Ten pulled Jaehyun’s untouched plate closer to him, laughing nervously to try and dispel the heavy mood.

            “He must not be hungry. All the more for me then!” He said before taking a huge mouthful. The food was delicious, but they ate without tasting anything; the myriad of worries keeping them from truly being able to focus on anything before them. Would Taeyong be okay even with this demon inhabiting him? What was happening to Mark? Now that Taeyong was merged with Ose, how could they go about saving their youngest?

            One by one, they went to bed, wanting to be well rested for their day of planning tomorrow. Eventually it was only Taeyong awake at the dining table, watching the clock tick towards midnight, listening to the locusts singing outside. He realized with a dull start that locusts were part of the animal kingdom, and he could control them now if he wanted to. He imagined darkening the sky with thousands and thousands of locusts, their brittle wings hammering the air, stripping trees of all their leaves, terrifying everyone who beheld them. Dully, he remembered the reference to the plague of locusts in the bible, and recited it quietly from memory:

            “I will bring locusts into your country tomorrow. They will cover the face of the ground so that it cannot be seen. They will devour what little you have left after the hail, including every tree that is growing in your fields. They will fill your houses and those of all your officials…”

            Despite himself, Taeyong was laughing darkly as he imagined the clerics in the holy sector panicking as insects fell upon them in the thousands. What could their holy water and scripture do to dispel mindless insects? He could bring a plague of locust. It was now within his power. In his mind, Ose was purring, rearing his head.

            **I like the way you think. A little power drunk are we?**

_I’m not power drunk. I’m weighing my options._

**Ah. And you have so many options now, young master. How does it feel to not be powerless?**

Taeyong shook his head slowly, trying to clear his head, but the curiosity was nibbling at him.

            _What other options do I have? What else can I do?_

**Remember** _,_ **I’m the patron god of insanity. Together we can drive any man to madness, can make him believe what we want him to believe. Young master, shall I show you?**

_Will you hurt anyone?_

**Only if you want me to.**

            Taeyong knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t listen. But the curiosity was mounting. And he needed to know what his powers were fully capable of if he was going to save Mark and keep everyone safe. He slowly stood up from the table, surveying the empty living room once, before heading out the door into the night.

 

~

            The man was writhing at his feet. The alleys were empty except for the continuing shrill of the locusts in the trees, but the silence was punctuated by the man’s agonized gasping. Taeyong did not know the man, except the fact that he was a cultist. He had been alone. He had attacked Taeyong first, but now he was on the ground in too much pain to even scream for help.

            **He thinks he’s on fire.** Ose said playfully. **It’s all in his head.**

Taeyong couldn’t even respond, he was too horrified watching the man pawing at his own skin as if the flesh was melting off. But there was no fire. His skin was immaculate and unbroken. But in the cultist’s head, he was in the throes of hellfire.

            _Stop it._ Taeyong thought, wanting to run away, but also strangely fascinated. How could an imagined pain manifest into such physical reactions. _Stop it._

**As you wish.**

Abruptly the cultist at his feet stopped screaming. He sat up blinking dazedly, and suddenly he began laughing and talking, sitting cross legged and gazing with adoring eyes at nothing.

            _What are you doing?_

**I’m being kind. I’m letting him think he’s having dinner with his long dead wife. Oh my, look how happy he is.**

And the man was smiling as bright as the sun, talking about nonsense, what happened at work, where they should vacation for their anniversary. A thin line of spit was trailing from his lips as he suddenly raised up a handful of dirt and rocks from the floor. Taeyong looked on in horror as the man put it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He cringed as he heard his teeth grinding against the pebbles.

            **He thinks he’s eating his wife’s home cooking. Isn’t it cute?**

But the man was swallowing the jagged rocks whole, they were ripping his throat into shreds as he swallowed them down. The dirt was choking him and he was sputtering, but still smiling. He was smiling as tears rolled down his face in thick rivulets. His teeth were chipping and his gums were bloodied from his effort to grind down the stones, and oh god, he was coughing blood now from his damaged esophagus.

            **If you want, you can kill him this way. Just let him think he’s having a romantic, candle-lit dinner and eat himself to death with rocks and glass. You can do anything if you have dominion over a man’s mind. You can let him think he’s falling into his own bed, when you’re actually making him plummet into the sea. You can fool someone into killing another. Insanity is an unstoppable force, and now you are its master.**

The man’s mouth was a mess of broken teeth and reddened spit. He looked up at Taeyong with deranged eyes. Did he think he was the long dead wife he was seeing only in his head? He smiled his gash toothed smile.

            “I love you, honey.”

            Taeyong was running. He couldn’t even look back at the ruins of a man he had driven to madness. He ran so quickly, he worried the floor would ignite under his feet. Oh god, what a terrible, terrible power. What a horrible power. What evil.

            Ose was laughing in his head, a maniacal verve that overwhelmed and frightened him.

            _Stop. Make it stop._ Taeyong said, wanting to erase the memory of the man stuffing rocks and glass into his mouth, but it wouldn’t go away. Broken teeth, throats ripped from the inside. No stitches would help that. And oh god, he would go insane if he saw something like that again. He would surely, surely go mad.

            **Sanity is a very thin trip-wire, young master. The powerful cannot only be sane.**

He ran home without stopping. Overhead, a lone crow circled the orb of the moon.

 


	13. Day 424

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize in advance for always making my characters suffer so much >

~~

Day 424

~~

            Taeyong had been wandering the streets for hours. He couldn’t get it out of his mind: the man weeping and laughing, gorging himself on stones even as his teeth shattered and bled. He wanted to throw up, but he hadn’t eaten enough to heave up anything but water. He wanted to forget.

            Barely conscious of where his body was taking him, he stumbled to the black market. He bought himself a flask of wormwood liquor from a toothless woman with a black, wizened tongue. He thought of bloody gums, spit. He uncorked the flask and drank the whole thing in one go.

            **More.**  Ose was saying in his head, gleefully entertained. **Have some more.**

            Taeyong bought two more flasks. As he walked through the markets, he heard civilians gossiping in anxious, hushed tones about the cultist who had mysteriously been found dead a few hours prior: his stomach had been full of rocks and dirt, his mouth bloodied. He had been smiling.

            “What do you think happened? The work of a demon?” Taeyong overheard a young woman ask her friend as they passed.

            “It must be. Some monster must have summoned another.” Her friend responded before they were swallowed by the crowd.

            Taeyong uncorked the second flask. Drank it all.

            **Oh my. Those ladies called you a monster. Are you not angry?**

            _They’re not wrong. I am a monster._

            The streets were filling with trickles of robed cultists, their faces anxious beneath their hoods because of the rumors of a newly summoned demon. Taeyong was suddenly flooded with memories of the past year, how much he and his friends had suffered because of the cults that terrorized their streets. How many days had they been made to go hungry and defenseless because they had spent all of their money paying tithe to be left alone? How many nights had they been beaten and terrorized when they hadn’t had enough currency to pay both cult sects off? It was probably in order to make enough money to comfortably pay tithe to the cults that caused Jaehyun to sell himself to the Lilin-demons in the first place. That realization made Taeyong’s blood ignite like magma.

            Taeyong watched the cultists, and realized dully that he could kill them. Their patron demons Baal and Orobas were lower ranked than Ose. It would be easy. A simple, quick revenge.

            **Do you want me to hurt them?** Ose purred in his head.

            It scared Taeyong how long he hesitated, how much his marrow wanted for violence before he answered in his head: _Leave them._

            **As you wish.**  Ose responded evenly as Taeyong began moving in the direction of home. He drank the last flask of liquor, and he was violently drunk, his feet shuffling precariously. His vision was fogged and all around him, he could hear the faint whisperings of the animals: the industrious babble of the ants, the hunger or the street cats. He wanted the voices to stop. And he wasn’t sure if it was because he was drunk or devastated or in need of comfort, but suddenly he was filled with a violent want for Jaehyun. He couldn’t help his mind wandering: the softness of the younger’s lips, the sharp intake of breath when he mouthed the sensitive skin of his throat. He wanted to hold and be held, told sweet lies about how everything would be okay, how they would all come out of this hell alive. That the sun would rise eventually.

            But suddenly Taeyong’s most recent memory of Jaehyun was flooding his head: Jaehyun’s look of utter distrust and anger when Taeyong had summoned a demon. How he refused to make eye contact, and had avoided him as soon as they returned home. Jaehyun was furious with Taeyong, a white hot anger he had never held for him before. Just the memory of his livid eyes cut Taeyong like a knife.

            **You love him.** Ose said in his head.

            _Yes._

            Taeyong felt Ose rummaging through his memories as if he were leafing through a photo album. He felt terribly violated, but there was nothing he could do to stop the demon. They shared his body now, after all.

            **You love him. But you’ve never had him.**

            _Had him?_

            **You’ve never had him like the lilin-demons have had him. Why?**

            Taeyong was nearing home. His footsteps felt so incredibly heavy, he was seeing double. He wanted to lay down and never get up, but Ose would not stop prying; obviously in a mischievous mood.

            _I can’t._

            **You can’t, or you won’t?**

            _I won’t. I won’t ask for anything he doesn’t offer himself. I can’t do that to him, after everything he’s been through._

            **But why not? Has he not already forfeit his body for the use of others? What good is a ripe fruit without anyone to partake?**

            _Shut up. Don’t fucking talk about him like that._

            **You want him. I can hear it in your mind.**

            _Shut up._

            The demon is laughing and laughing, and somehow, Taeyong has already entered his home and is standing in front of Jaehyun’s door. When did he get here? He could hardly remember. He tried to turn towards his own bedroom, but something was rooting him to the spot.

            **Go inside.**

            _Stop it._

            But his hand was on the knob, turning almost despite himself. He suddenly wasn’t sure if it was his own will that was opening Jaehyun’s door, or if it was Ose’s, but there they were. And he was inside, lurching forward like the city drunkard after a fifth hour or drinking. In the mirror, he caught his reflection, his cat eyes reflective like a mirror, so inhuman. Something monstrous, and here Jaehyun was on the bed. Sleeping, peaceful, so beautifully human. Something animal and ravenous was overtaking Taeyong, dousing out all of his human thoughts of _I shouldn’t be in here._

            He felt Ose nudging his limbs forward harshly, and then he was moving on his own. He loved Jaehyun. Would do anything for him. Had summoned a demon to keep him safe. Didn’t that give him a right to have him how he wanted to have him?

            He crawled over his prone form, caught his lips in a gentle kiss. Jaehyun startled awake, he clearly had not been asleep for long, his body was still tense with the day.

            “Hyung?” He tried to say, but Taeyong bent for another kiss, gentle and coaxing.

            Jaehyun was tense at first, he didn’t kiss back and Taeyong could practically hear him thinking, remembering the day, remembering his anger at what Taeyong had done. But Jaehyun loved him too. Taeyong knew this. And he was slowly relaxing, kissing back tentatively. His mouth tasted of the mint leaves he chewed before bed. Taeyong thought he might die from happiness.

            “Hyung we need to talk.” Jaehyun said in the brief moment Taeyong came up for air.

            “Later.” Taeyong said, barely louder than a breath as he pulled the younger’s head back gently by the hair, baring his throat. He kissed the quivering adams apple before trailing down to nibble gently at where his throat met his clavicle. Jaehyun’s breath was hitching, an obvious effort not to moan. Jaehyun squirmed a bit, gently nudging at Taeyong’s shoulders.

            “We need to talk now.” He gasped.

            **Don’t listen, you’ve been waiting long enough.**

            Something was breaking in Taeyong, a splinter in his mind. His body was moving without permission. All he could hear was Ose’s urging. All he could see and taste was Jaehyun, and he couldn’t, couldn’t stop now.

            With startling force, he grabbed Jaehyun’s arms by the wrist and pinned them above his head  with one hand so he couldn’t nudge at Taeyong’s shoulders anymore. Jaehyun gasped, his eyes suddenly flooding with something like disbelief, and then a thinly concealed fear. He struggled, but Taeyong was too strong now, Ose’s animal strength kept him pinned. When he couldn’t struggle out of the vice grip, he started to speak, but Taeyong couldn’t hear. He could hardly think. He hungered for him to the point of pain.

            _I’m losing my mind._

            **Yes you are.**

            Taeyong bent again into Jaehyun’s neck, but he was not gentle. He broke skin with his teeth, sucked dark bruises along the base of his throat until the younger was whimpering in pain.

            “I love you.” Taeyong whispered to Jaehyun who was no longer capable of hiding his terror. “I’ve loved you for such a long time.”

            It was as if Taeyong’s body was no longer his. His mind knew what his hands were doing, but were helpless to stall it. Ose was taking control now. Evil, playful, merciless Ose. His free hand was beginning to roam, tracing the lines of the younger’s throat, down his sternum, the angles of his hip bones, pawing at the waist of his pants and Jaehyun’s eyes were widening with realization. He thrashed weakly below Taeyong, trying to throw him off.

            “Stop it. Hyung, no.” Jaehyun was saying, but it was useless. Taeyong was not in control of his own mind anymore. His hands continued to wander and grasp, but oh god, his heart was hurting. Jaehyun’s frightened voice was sending sharp stabs of pain through his body, they almost crippled him.

            **Why do you hesitate? You want this.**

            _I want…. This?_

            Taeyong was so fucking confused. His body both his and not his. His mind both his and not his. He looked below him at Jaehyun, splayed on the bed, his wrists pinned, his eyes so damn scared. He looked beautiful. But he also looked like an animal of prey, a sparrow trapped in front of a viper knowing it didn’t have much longer to live. And Taeyong was that viper. He wanted this?

            **Yes, you want this. For the first time in your life, take what you covet. It’s yours. You’ve done enough to deserve this.**

            Ose was urging him harder and harder. Taeyong closed his eyes, his head feeling excrutiatingly close to bursting.

            “Shut up, damn demon.” Taeyong said aloud through grit teeth, knowing that both Ose and Jaehyun could hear him. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me. I summoned you. I control you, not the other way around.”

            The demon was coiling in his head, preparing to strike and reclaim control of Taeyong, but Jaehyun was staring up at him. He was crying. A kaleidoscope of memory was opening up in Taeyong’s head: Jaehyun’s crescent moon laughter, their celebration on the night of hearing their debut date, how happy they had been when they realized they would be debuting together. He remembered nights in the dorms, lazing in front of the television, watching dramas. Those deliriously joyful days that seemed a thousand years ago. Taeyong didn’t want to make Jaehyun cry. He wanted to see laughter on his face again. Nothing but laughter.

             With a heave, he threw off Ose’s control, and suddenly his body was his again. With a gasp, he let go of Jaehyun’s wrist, withdrew his wandering hand from Jaehyun’s waist. Ose was laughing in his head, but not derisively this time.

**You are stronger than I thought. Good. This would not be interesting otherwise.**

             Then Ose retreated to a crevice of his mind and was silent.

             Taeyong sat up, his mouth hanging open in horror at Jaehyun’s state: his shirt unbuttoned, his throat slightly bloody and bruised from his teeth. He had done that. Ose’s control or not, he had done that.

             “Jaehyun… I’m sorry.” He whispered, but Jaehyun was already getting up, running out of the room. Taeyong ran after him, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

             He lost track of how many times he apologized before Jaehyun turned around, his eyes overrun with unshed tears as he asked: “How could you?”

             “I’m so sorry. The demon was making me. The demon was making me crazy, I won’t let it happen again. Jaehyun please..”

              “Then why did you fucking summon a demon in the first place?” Jaehyun shouted, the tears finally falling onto his cheek. “Why did you do it?”

             His shouting was waking the others up. Hansol slipped out into the living room first, his eyes full of confusion, and the others were also slowly trickling in.

             “I did it to keep us safe. To save Mark.” Taeyong said, despite himself feeling his temper flare. He didn’t ask for this. He never wanted this life. He would never have summoned anything if he felt like he had any other choice.

             “You sold yourself to a monster!” Jaehyun said, his eyes fiery in accusation, and Taeyong could just not handle the anger in his eyes. He was also losing his grip on his temper, and it made him careless.

             “How is this any different from you giving your body to the Lilin?!” He said, his own voice rising in volume. He heard Yuta and the others gasping in disbelief, and remembered with a dull pang that nobody knew about what Jaehyun had been doing. That had been their secret, and he had just betrayed him. But it was too late to turn back now. “Tell me Jae, just how is this different from what you’ve been doing for the past few months?

             Jaehyun’s face was indescribably warped with anger and pain, his entire body was shaking, and he couldn’t control the tears. He’d never cried so fucking hard.

             “Only I live in my head. They hurt me and fuck me, but they can’t control me.” He said, his voice a dangerously quiet hiss. Somehow this was worse than shouting. Taeyong could only wince as Jaehyun continued. “And unlike you I didn’t have to kill anyone. I’m not a murderer.”

            Taeyong tried to control his voice, trying to even it out as he felt Ose watching the scene unfold with wicked amusement.

            “Jaehyunnie. Woojae…” Taeyong said, using Jaehyun’s affectionate petnames in attempt to placate him. “Listen to me..”

            “No.” Jaehyun said, backing away towards the front door. “I’m done listening to you.”

            Before anyone could respond, Jaehyun was running out of the home, sprinting away through the dark rain drenched alleys. By the time everyone had come out of their stunned stupor and ran outside to stop him, Jaehyun was long gone leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

 

~

 

            Jaehyun was running, the rain beating down on him with a wet fist. He didn’t care if he was soaked to the bone. He just needed to get away. He couldn’t bear to be around Taeyong, not when he felt as though the hyung he knew and loved was disappearing right before his very eyes.

            He wasn’t even sure how long he ran before his lungs seemed to give out and he was on his knees coughing, coughing, coughing until he tasted blood in his throat. The pain was overriding his mind again, the effects of coupling for so long with the incubus.

            _How much longer do I have?_ Jaehyun wondered dully as he sat up, the coughs finally subsiding. He got to his feet again and set off at a slower walking pace. He was walking without direction or destination. He just desperately needed to clear his head after everything that had happened. He just needed to forget how Taeyong had very nearly trespassed against him, even if it was because of the demon inside of him. How could he trust his hyung now?

            He walked in contemplative silence for half an hour, the heavy quiet of the night pierced only by the periodic screech of the crow flying overhead. Jaehyun looked up at the bird quizzically. A crow had been flying overhead earlier too as everyone ran to try and stop Taeyong from summoning a demon. That bird was definitely trailing them. Jaehyun wondered dully if this crow was the same as the one before. He stopped , looking up at the sky where the black bird blotted out the orb of the moon. It was only circling lazily overhead, as if waiting for him to make a move. Uncertain, Jaehyun held up his wrist, and as if by some worldless communication, the bird hurtled down and landed on him in a flurry of feathers.

            “Jesus Christ!” Jaehyun said as the bird settled heavily on his wrist. It looked at him with unusually intelligent black eyes, cawing once. “Why are you following us?”

            The bird cocked its head in understanding, and held out its left talon to Jaehyun. There was a small black letter camouflaging with its feathers. Baffled, he untied it hurriedly and opened the letter. As soon as he saw the messy scrawl, his eyes began to swim with tears. It was unmistakably Johnny’s handwriting. Johnny was alive. At least one of them was alive and well.

            _Dear friends,_

_There’s not much time so I will be brief. The church has taken Mark in hopes of making him summon Lucifer. Donghyuk and Jaemin also taken, and we don’t know why. Doyoung, Jeno, Taeil and I are safe. We are hiding in the headquarters of a rebel group called the seculars. There is a demon here named Paimon who can possibly stop Lucifer’s summoning, but the holy wards in this sector has him very weak. We need to get out and regroup. If you can, please help us escape. Our coordinates are 38.5131° N, 127.0578° E. And please, please be safe._

_Love,_

_Johnny_

           

             His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he folded the letter and pocketed it. They needed his help. They needed to escape. And they needed to save Mark. Jaehyun almost couldn’t believe it. The church was trying to evoke Lucifer through Mark. Their Mark. No, he couldn’t let it happen.

             In his head, all he could hear were the promise of the Lilin-demon: how they would repay his services in favors. That he could call on them in a time of need. It was finally time to call in that favor. First things first, Jaehyun would get Johnny and the others, along with the demon Paimon away from the holy sector. They would have to figure out the rest later.

             Jaehyun looked at the bird, somehow feeling positive it would understand him when he said: “Tell them I am coming.”

             The crow cawed and then took off into the air, flying in the direction of the holy sector. Jaehyun took off running in the direction of the incubus den, willing his weakened body to move faster, faster, faster. There was not much time. 

~~

 

            Taeyong was devastated. In his head, all he could hear were Jaehyun’s words.

            _No. I’m done listening to you._

            It sent ripples of pain through him. Ose was purring in his head. Outside his door, Ten and the others were knocking, asking him to come out, to explain what just happened, asking him if he’s okay. But Taeyong can’t find it in himself to answer. He’s too overcome with emotion. He needs to be alone.

            Somehow, in just one short week, their lives had gone from bad to abysmal. Taeyong hadn’t even realized it could possibly get any worse. It struck him that this was all the Holy Sector’s fault. If they had never threatened Jaehyun, if they hadn’t taken Mark, Taeyong would never have been compelled to summon a demon. They could have lived peacefully. He would have never hurt Jaehyun.

            It was like a match was lit inside Taeyong, the small fire of anger blazing into a full pyre.

            _It’s all their fucking fault._

            **Yes it is. And what will you do about it?**

            Taeyong hardly understood what he was doing, but his mind was reaching out, beckoning to all the locusts and rats in the city. Ose’s energy was surging in excitement when he realized Taeyong’s intent.

            **You’ll send over a plague of vermin?**

            _I will._

            **You realize that this will likely cause a famine in the sector? And sickness?**

            _Let it happen. I’ll order them to not touch my friends in the sector, but let them overrun everything else. And when everything is in chaos, I’m going to save my friends. It doesn’t matter what happens to anyone else, as long as my loved ones can come back to me._

            **How cruel. How very loyal.**

            Taeyong cradled his head in his hands as he felt his energy surge, calling out to all the vermin of the streets. He heard a million voices at once, calling him master. Outside, the streets filled to the brim with rats, all surging towards the gates of the holy sector like an oil spill. The skies darkened even further with locusts and cicadas, drumming the air with their brittle wings.  

 

~

            Donghyuk heard it before he saw it: the low din of screaming and footsteps, and then a strange, oppressive buzz. Then the sound was growing louder, and louder like the chopper of an airplane. He got up and stood on his tiptoes, looking outside of the slats of their prison at the sky. He swore his heart nearly turned inside out. The sky was absolutely black with locust; giant bugs with stained glass eyes and searching mouths. People were screaming, but he could barely see the people for how densely packed the air was with the insects. He gasped, clasping a shaking hand to his mouth, his stomach churning in terror. But it was strange. The insects were flying everywhere, filling houses through cracks in the window pane or doors,  but they were avoiding the cell that Donghyuk and Jaemin were staying in. It was almost as if they were being rebuffed by a ward or an order. Clerics were running out into the streets with their plague doctor masks, taking great torches to the sky. The air reeked of burning insects, but where a dozen burned, there were a hundred more to take up their place. It was strangely rewarding, to see the normally cool and collected clerics buckling under terror.

            “Jaemin, look at this!” Donghyuk said, kneeling down to nudge at Jaemin’s sleeping form. “Nana, wake up, you don’t want to miss this.”

            But Jaemin was not waking up, his breath shallow and uneven. His dark lashes stark against his parchment white cheek. He was breathing, but he was not waking up. Donghyuk lifted his hyung’s head onto his lap, a desperately frightened sob ripping itself from his throat.

            Outside, the cicadas destroyed all the crops and the wood of the houses, ripped all the trees clean of their leaves. 


	14. Day 425

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! a lot of violence against a character in this chapter :(

~~

Day 425

~~

 

            The air above the Holy Sector was rancid with smoke, the charred scent of incinerated insect and rat. The clerics had long since given up their fight against the vermin and retreated back into their chapels. The ground still pulsed with rodents, locusts still drummed the air with their thousands of wings, and unbidden, they crept into the storages of grain and crop, eating their way through the meager harvest. Everyone hid indoors and wouldn’t come out. The reverends kept to the safety of their chapels while the civilians they held dominion over struggled to seal off their homes, nursed rat bites that would fester and infect eventually.

            In the city square, the possessed were forgotten amidst the chaos, never let down from the stakes they were lashed to. The rats got to them, gnawed on the soft flesh of their faces as they laughed and raved: _He will be risen, he will be risen_. Below the city square, the seculars waited for help to arrive. The horned demon Paimon languished weakly at the head of the table, his ethereal face bleached and haggard from the strain of living amongst holy wards for so long. Johnny watched his friends shivering in fear, but could offer no words of comfort because, oh god, he was scared too. He heard the clamoring above their heads, he felt the evil energy that had surged in the air as soon as the vermin had come seemingly out of nowhere. Jeno was paper white, his eyes blown wide with fear. He reached blindly for a hand, and was met with four pairs of them: Johnny, Doyoung, Taeil and Kun. They clung to one another like a lifeline on a rapidly sinking boat. Someone would come for them. They had to believe someone would come. There was nothing to do but wait.

 

~

            Jaehyun never dreamed it would come down to this. Standing before the power of the church, flanked on either side by demons. But here they were. Jaehyun could not see beyond the wall that cordoned off the Holy Sector from the rest of the city, but he could hear the wild buzzing of insects, he could smell the burning. Instinctually, he knew this was Taeyong’s doing, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the sheer destructive power his hyung had inherited. If Ose had made Taeyong this powerful, Jaehyun could not even fathom what Mark would be capable of if he successfully summoned Lucifer. And if the church successfully managed to subjugate Lucifer…. He couldn’t stomach the thought. He couldn’t let it happen.

            “If I’d have known you would have asked for such a troublesome favor, I would never have laid with you.” The incubus said thickly, facing the heavily warded sector gates with distaste. The crosses and salt were affecting him. Jaehyun could tell by his straining veins and the way his eyes were dilated with discomfort. He felt it too, the holiness rebuking him. Jaehyun couldn’t look too long at the crosses for fear that his eyes would begin to sizzle in their sockets. It was physically painful, as if his whole body was begging him not to near the sector. It was too holy for him. Too purified.

            _Because I’m tainted now. A dirty thing._

“We need to move quickly. As demons, we can only fight off the effects of the holy wards for so long. The same goes for you, young human. A demon’s plaything can’t go through purification long without being scathed.” The incubus said, his red eyes flitting towards the locust darkened sky above the gate. “Luckily for us, this plague of pestilence seems to have crippled their guard. How auspicious.”

            Lucky. That was a strange word for their situation. Someone had been killed to bring along the plague. Taeyong’s life span had been compromised. His hyung was sharing his mind and body with an evil thing that willed him to hurt people he would never dream of hurting. Lucky.

            As they neared the gate, Jaehyun could see that the incubus was indeed right about security being severely compromised. There were only a small group of clerics guarding the entrance to the holy sector. Even though their faces were covered by the beaked plague doctor masks, anxiety was evident in their body language: the way they shuffled and shifted. They wanted to run, Jaehyun could tell. But there was nowhere to run now.

            The clerics began to ready their rifles, pointing in their direction.

            “No one enters or leaves the sector.” One of them said, the barrel of his gun pointing directly at Jaehyun’s chest.

            “What exactly are you guarding your city from? It’s already falling to plague.” The incubus said, his face twisting in derisive laughter. He walked confidently forward.

“The sector will never fall.” The clerics’s fingers moved closer to the trigger, and for a moment, Jaehyun was certain they would shoot. That everything would screech to an abrupt end even before proper beginnings. But no, they all faltered, their fingers stayed by the immense beauty of the Lilin demons. The cleric’s bodies were betraying them by not letting them shoot, but how could anyone shoot creatures of such overwhelming, otherworldly loveliness? It would be like cutting the last rose on a dying vine.

Jaehyun hung back and watched it all happen. He’d known that the Lilin demons were masters of the power of persuasion and seduction, but he never thought it could compromise a person’s mind and free will. It terrified him to see the incubus reaching out to touch one of the cleric’s throats, tentatively, like a lover might.

“Drop the weapons.” He said in a velvety voice, and then the air was clamoring with the sound of a dozen rifles falling to the ground at once. “Good dogs.”

And then that hand that was gently resting on the cleric’s throat was suddenly ripping through the skin, grabbing the corded trachea and pulling it loose. The cleric gurgled, his white robe doused in a splash of red as he fell to the floor, scrabbling weakly at his shredded neck. The other lilin demons were suddenly falling upon the other clerics who could do nothing but cry out for help that would never come. The Lilin were too quick, too deadly. And even if there was a small chance to fight them off, the plague of vermin kept everyone barricaded in their homes. No one would come. Jaehyun wanted to heave at the sight of such violence, a dozen clerics suddenly mowed down and disassembled with bare hands. The floor puddled with cerise and gore, and Jaehyun could not bear to look. He closed his eyes and turned his head towards the sky until the incubus was at his side, a bloodied hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

“They’re all slaughtered.” He said, his eyes lit with the thrill of murder, but unmistakably tinged in pain from the wards. They needed to move quickly.

As they entered the sector, Jaehyun could hardly believe the destruction. All of the trees had been laid bare by the locusts, and even the wood of the houses had been partially eaten away. There were no people on the streets, but they teemed with bulging rats with mange eaten coats, squealing their moon-struck madness. If he wasn’t so distracted with the thought to get his friends out of the sector, Jaehyun may have whimpered at the sight.

Together, they ran through the sector towards the coordinates Johnny had written in the letter. Despite the plague, scripture was still being blared throughout the city: _Should evil come upon us, the sword, or judgment, or pestilence, or famine, we will stand before this house and before You and cry to You in our distress, and You will hear and deliver us…._

He covered his ears. After what felt like a century of torturous running and blaring scripture, they finally came upon the coordinates. Jaehyun nearly squalled as he saw what was before them: three people bound to stakes. Two were long dead, emaciated, their ribs jutting out from their skin, their cheeks and toes eaten away by rats. But one was still alive, just barely. His eyes ringed red, a telltale sign of possession. It smiled darkly at them as they approached.

“They’re below me. The dissidents. The sinners. The filth. They’re below me. How apt that they should want to be closer to hell.” The possessed boy had no teeth. They had fallen or had been beaten out of his face long ago. But he was smiling and wild eyed.

Jaehyun began to rearrange the cobblestones in the manner the letter had said, and as the final stone clicked into place, an underground passage opened up. Johnny and the others were in there. His heart was beginning to sing with joy. He and the Lilin were halfway down the stairs when the possession was suddenly calling out to him in his tin can voice.

“Lucifer will be brought to the surface.” It croaked. “This time it will happen. They tried and tried and tried, but this time the vessel will be worthy. The streets shall run red with your blood.”

Jaehyun’s feet felt rooted to the spot, his blood hammering wildly in his ears.

_Mark. Mark. I can’t let this happen to Mark._

Hundreds of memories were flitting before his vision like a kaleidoscope closing. He remembered Mark’s pitched and wild laughter, his unbearable awkwardness that would overtake his form as soon as a camera was rolling in front of him, his gullibility, his timidity. It wasn’t possible that a boy of such sweetness would be fit as a vessel for one of the most powerful beings in the underworld. If Mark was forced to summon Lucifer, he would most certainly fail. He would certainly be slaughtered.

Just as Jaehyun felt the edges of a panic attack coming on, his vision blurring, the incubus grabbed roughly at his arms, jerking him harshly in a way that would most certainly bruise.

“We only have time for one act of reckless heroism today.” The Incubus said, showing Jaehyun his palm. A bloody cross had opened on the flesh of his hand. Jaehyun could see the cobblestone floor straight through the gash. It was a stigmata. A holy wound. A sign that the holy wards were beginning to cause serious harm.

Jaehyun was reeling, but nodded and ran down the stone stairs. As he burst through the door, he heard voices, and suddenly he was wrapped in someone’s arms. He knew immediately that it was Johnny.

“Thank god you’re okay.” He said as he pulled away. Jeno, Kun, Doyoung and Taeil were not far behind, pulling him into embrace after relieved embrace, and Jaehyun realized dully that the last time they had seen him, he had fainted without explanation.

“Why are you with the Lilin?” Doyoung suddenly asked, his voice cutting through Jaehyun like a knife. The Lilin were bowing respectfully before the demon Paimon. One of the Succubus broke ranks and lifted Paimon into her arms, cradling his prone form gingerly. It was strange to see a demon King in such a weakened state. It was humanizing, despite the horns, the red eyes, the almost horrifying levels of beauty.

“We’re leaving this place first, young human. We need to get King Paimon away from the holy wards.” She said before taking off like a furious gust, and she was gone without a trace. Doyoung was staring at the remaining group of uncomfortably beautiful demon with wary eyes, and Jaehyun could only shake his head. He would have to explain himself about his deal with the Lilin demons eventually, but that time was not now.

“We have to go hyung. Now.” Jaehyun said. Doyoung was looking back and forth between Jaehyun and the Lilin demons as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Jaehyun cut in with a desperate whisper. “Please.”

It was the look of crippling pain in Jaehyun’s eyes that made Doyoung drop the questions.

“Let’s go. Let’s leave this place.” Kun said. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can regroup and save our youngest.”

Doyoung nodded and they all fled into the night together, back through the vermin packed streets. Away, away. They were just beginning to reach the gate when one of the succubus suddenly ignited without explanation, as if she had drunk a gallon of oil and was immolating from within. Jaehyun cried out, stumbling backwards as he watched her beautiful form beginning to darken and flake, the fire sizzling the eyes from her sockets, her voluptuous form collapsing like a wizened tree and she was screaming and screaming, her skin sizzling and popping like dry kindling. She reached out a burning hand towards no one. No one was coming to her aid. Not even her fellow lilin. Jaehyun took off his coat, ran to immolating form. No one deserved to meet such an end. Not even a demon. Not even if she had pinned him to the ground and impinged upon him over and over again for months. Jaehyun tried to beat the flames away with his heavy coat, but it was no use, it was holy fire, it could not be put out. The succubus was being purified.

“Leave her!” The incubus shouted, already turning his back.

“But..”

            “Hurry, or I’ll leave you all behind.” The incubus said, grabbing Jaehyun around the wrist with his bloody hands. Now both of his hands had been punctured with the sign of the cross, and two identical stigmata were beginning to carve their way through either of his wrists. He half pulled, half dragged Jaehyun through the gates, and once they were a reasonable distance away from the holy wards, they all collapsed in a heap to the floor. Even the incubus kneeled, choking back a gasp of pain as he wiped the blood away from his stigmata. Jeno, Johnny, Doyoung and Kun were gasping, their frail and hunger thinned bodies disused to such wild sprinting. They were looking back and forth between Jaehyun and the Incubus with wide, frightened eyes, and then they looked around themselves at the state of the city outside the Holy sector. It couldn’t be more different. Where the Holy sector was a study in architectural beauty with old world edifices and stained glass windows, the city beyond was all dilapidation and grime. Pentagrams were smudged on the walls of each of the houses in what looked to be blood. Not a cross in sight. Not even one relic of the church. Johnny couldn’t decide if he was terrified or relieved.

            The incubus was getting up, holding his injured hands together in hopes to staunch the bleeding, but it was no use, it was still running in rivulets down his wrists.

            “We’ve held good on our side of the bargain.” He said simply before turning to walk away. Something in Jaehyun was screaming. In his head, all he could see was the female succubus suddenly engulfed in flames. The way she blindly held out a burning hand, and no one had reached out to help her. The incubus had just watched her burn. He’d just turned away to leave.

            “You left her behind.” Jaehyun said, his hands shaking, and he wasn’t sure why. He hated that succubus. She had been crueler than most. She didn’t deserve his sympathy and yet…  “She was your friend and you left her behind.”

            He couldn’t even imagine turning his back on his friends in that situation. If it were him, he would grasp their hands through the fire. He would have done whatever it takes.

            “She was already being purified. There is no reversal once that process begins.  
The incubus said, his shoulders set with thinly veiled anger. “Don’t get so high and mighty. Do you think humans are the only beings with loyalty?”

            Jaehyun wanted to fire back, but the Incubus was already stalking away down the winding dark alleys, saying over his shoulder without even looking back “We will leave demon King Paimon at your home. Don’t come to us anymore, you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”  And then he was gone, leaving Jaehyun and his friends starkly alone in the quiet darkness. He swallowed hard on his inexplicable rush of emotion as he turned to look solemnly at each of their faces in turn. Jaehyun suddenly wasn’t sure if he had inadvertently put his friends in the line of even more danger by breaking them out of the Holy Sector, but at least they were together. He tried to smile but it wavered like a candle. He held out a finely quivering hand.

            In the holy sector, a pillar of ash smoldered down to a gnarled black root before being carted away by the wind.

 

~~

Day 426

~~

            They were holding him underwater. A rough hand fisted in his hair, forcing him under the baptismal basin. He felt someone press their knee against the burned skin of his back, and despite himself he gasped, drawing a rush of water into his lungs. He sputtered, but there was no air anywhere to be had. Mark swore he would finally, finally drown, and just when he was beginning to resign himself, they were pulling him up. He coughed, spit up mouthfuls of water before desperately breathing in glorious, glorious air because he knew they would be forcing him under again. Like they had been again and again.

            “Say you’ll do it.” Reverend Yoo whispered harshly in his ear. Mark winced as he felt him tug the fistful of his hair tighter, but he refused to whimper. And he refused to relent.

            “Go fuck yourself.”

            He was underwater again, he struggled hard but his hands were tied behind his back like a trussed bird and the air was leaving him again, forced out of him in pockets of breath when the reverend pressed again at his back, knowing it would make him gasp, accidentally inhale. Mark opened his eyes, saw nothing but blue. He wasn’t sure how long they had been water boarding him for. It couldn’t be more than fifteen minutes, but it seemed to stretch into hours, days, months. He was light headed and delirious. He couldn’t breathe. Inexplicably, in his mind, he heard his mother’s voice as if she were beckoning him over from a great distance. And then they brought him up again. He drew a shuddering breath before Reverend Yoo was tossing him aside roughly away from the baptismal basin. With his hands tied behind him, Mark had nothing to break his fall and his head hit the floor, scattering stars across his vision. There was too much water in his eyes. He could barely make out the Reverend’s hazy form as he knelt beside him, grabbed him roughly by the collar.

            “You’re very stubborn, child.” He said, his voice frustrated but also strangely gleeful. The sick bastard was enjoying torturing him. He liked it. He was a sadist. Just that knowledge alone sent shivers of terror down Mark’s back because what else was he capable of? But still, he refused to quail. He couldn’t show him how frightened he was, how much he was suffering. The moment he showed weakness was the moment he lost. So instead of fear, he let himself be angry. He let the fury overpower.

            Swiftly, he kicked out with his unsprained foot, caught the reverend in the shin. The reverend cried out. For a moment, anger flickered across his features before being glossed over with wicked satisfaction.

            “So much fire. You really are perfect. The perfect vessel.” Reverend Yoo said wildly. “It will be easy young man. Just make the sacrifice, and let Lucifer overpower. You can rest and let him take control. You will be freed.”

            The reverend nodded his head over at the middle aged man who was bound to the wall across the room: the sacrifice Mark would have to make in order to begin invoking the demon. The man was clearly terrified beyond reason or language. He was hyperventilating. He had wet himself hours ago and was now beginning to reek. He was staring at Mark with animally terrified eyes, as if Mark had agreed to become his killer. As if he wasn’t also there by force. It sent stabs of guilt through Mark, but he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill an innocent man. He couldn’t. Not even to save his own life.

            “I won’t do it.” Mark said roughly. “I don’t care what you do. I won’t summon Lucifer.”

            In his mind, all he could see were the recordings they had made him watch of all the failed summonings. He remembered flashes of bone, jugulars bursting open like the bud of a bloody rose. He remembered eyes weeping red, fire, screaming, a horned and winged shadow. What would happen if he actually managed to succeed and fuse with Lucifer? If the church managed to take control of that power, just how much more tyrannical would they become? Mark couldn’t let it happen. He would refuse, no matter what they did to him. They had already kept him locked up for days. Starved him, humiliated him. They had already burned the sigil of Baphomet on his back and chest with hot branding irons, half drowned him. But still, he held steadfast. He wouldn’t, wouldn’t do it.

            Reverend Yoo sighed, beckoning a Cleric to come over to him with a carafe of wine. He drank in distracted silence while Mark studied their surroundings for the first time in hours. They had moved him from his tiny cellar prison into a beautifully ornate chapel. In the center of the room was the marble baptismal basin Mark had been submerged in earlier. The wall was lined with masked clerics, and the walls were adorned heavily with more holy wards than Mark had ever seen: gigantic guilded crosses, broadsides of scriptures emblazoned against the stone walls. It was painful to look at. The sigil of Baphomet that had been burned on Mark’s back was searing as if on fire. The reverend drained his cup,  looking up towards the stained glass windows of the chapel. Mark followed his gaze. Even through the colored glass, Mark could see the flurry of insects outside, the way their frenzied bodies blotted out even the light of the moon.

            “Don’t you see what is happening outside? Something or someone beyond the wall has sent a plague of locust and rats to our sector. The clerics tell me that all of the harvest and crops have been eaten away, and that many people have been bitten by the rats and are falling ill.” Reverend Yoo said. “Innocent people in the Holy sector will starve and fall to disease. If you summon Lucifer, you can stop this. You can save lives.”

            The image of Johnny, Doyoung and his other friends in the sector flashed across his vision. Would they starve too? But no, Mark knew the reverends were just trying to manipulate him. They wouldn’t use Lucifer to good. They would use him to their own benefit. Mark knew that the reverends kept a storage of food underground for themselves: a storage probably unaffected by the plague. But they wouldn’t circulate that to the public. They would keep it to themselves, greedy while their citizens suffered through a famine.

            “You know, the sector has been experimenting with invoking demons for a long time.” The reverend said thoughtfully. “We would make our prisoners attempt to summon him. But time and time again, we failed. Lucifer always refused us. Can you imagine why that is?”

            Mark didn’t answer. He knew nothing good came out of entertaining Reverend Yoo’s conversation. He continued on his own.

            “It’s because our citizens are too pure. We’ve been living amongst holy wards for so long, demons don’t want to merge with people from the sector. It weakens them. We came to realize we needed an inferior being to act as vessel. A dirty thing that has lived amongst evil. Someone from outside the gate that has not been purified. That happened to be you.”

            Mark’s eyes widened. “That’s why the church propositioned to open the border that time? It wasn’t to allow people to reunite with loved ones… it was in order to find a vessel.”

            The reverend laughed. “Of course. We aren’t in the work of charity. We had our reasons. And what a success it was because we found you. Our future devil’s plaything. Outside scum.”   He reached over, hooked his finger at the collar of Mark’s shirt and pulled down until just the top of the burned Sigil was visible on the skin of his chest. The devil’s sigil. An overwhelming anger was overtaking Mark’s mind, practically blinding him.

            “How could you take advantage of love like that? People wanted to see their loved ones. How could you use that as means to find a vessel? How fucking evil are you?”

            “These are evil times. We do what we must. And it’s for an ultimate good. You’ll see.”

            “No I won’t. Because I won’t listen to you shit eating bastards. I—

            The reverend was suddenly on him, pinning him to the floor, a knee against his back, holding him in place.

            “You’re trying my patience, young man.” The reverend calmly said as he took a hold of Mark’s bound hands. He took a hold of his smallest finger, bent it back, and Mark immediately knew what he meant to do. He was going to break it. Mark braced himself, closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself elsewhere because he refused to scream. He would not scream, he wouldn’t. He felt it bend back, the knuckle straining in its socket to accommodate the angle, and then it finally cracked, the bone giving under pressure, and his mind was flooded with pain. His vision was completely white. He couldn’t think, he could barely breathe, It hurt so much. But the reverend was already pulling his ring finger backwards until it too snapped, bent at an unnatural angle like the talon of a bird. There was blood dribbling down his lip from where he bit it to keep from crying out. His breath was coming out in short, haggard stutters, as if he’d run miles without end. He was sweating. Shivering.

            “Say that you will summon Lucifer. Say you will do it.”

            “Go. To. Hell.” Mark spit out through his teeth. He refused. He wouldn’t summon him. He wouldn’t sacrifice an innocent man’s life to invoke a monster.

            The middle finger. Broken. This time he couldn’t stop his whimpering. Oh god, he was going to faint.

            “Don’t you see we’re already in hell?” The reverend muttered, bending close to Mark’s face. His breath reeked of wine and something earthy like soil. “Don’t you see we can make things better if you just cooperate? Say you will abide by me.”

            Mark was beyond words. He couldn’t articulate himself so he just shook his head furiously, wiling himself not to cry. But the tears kept threatening to fall, and then suddenly they were: running in rivulets across his face and onto the stone floor where his cheek was pressed. The Reverend broke his index finger, and finally Mark cried out.

            _Weak. Weak. I’m fucking weak._

“Say it.”

            Miraculously, Mark stayed silent though the greedier, more cowardly part of him wanted to scream: _Yes, yes, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, please, please_

The reverend got up, releasing his pinning hold on Mark’s back. Mark stayed down with his cheek pressed against the floor, trying to gain control of his breathing. All of his attention was diverted to the overwhelming pain of his four broken fingers. Even without looking at them, he knew they must have been wickedly bent out of shape. He was so distracted, he didn’t even notice the Reverend’s conversation with the clerics.

            “He still refuses to obey. Bring in the young ones, we’ll see if he caves.”

            Then the cleric was leaving. For a while there was nothing but silence. Only Mark’s shuddering breath and the whimpers and wild babbling of the would-be sacrifice bound to the wall.

 _Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you._ Mark thought towards the man, but he kept babbling and babbling, begging to be spared. To please please just let him go home. And then suddenly the chapel door was opening, and there were more footsteps. Were they coming to finally kill him? It was almost a comforting thought. He struggled onto his knees. If he was going to be killed now, he refused to be laid out on the floor. He would be holding himself up, staring them straight in the eyes.

            But no, they weren’t coming to kill him. Mark felt horror infiltrating every corner of his mind. For a moment, even the agony of his broken bones were forgotten because the clerics had dragged in Donghyuk and Jaemin. Donghyuk was haggard and wild eyed, staring at Mark’s battered form. He looked terrified, but at least he looked more or less unharmed. Jaemin though looked close to death: unconscious, his breath falling shallow and uneven.

            “Hyung…” Donghyuk whispered, his eyes flickering from Mark to Reverend Yoo in cycles.

            Mark wanted to scream. He wanted to run to the reverend and dig out his eyes with his bare hands. He wanted to rip his throat out with his own teeth because Mark knew what he was doing. He was using his friends as collateral. There was nothing he wouldn’t do.

            The reverend walked over, cut the ropes that bound Mark’s hands behind his back. His shoulders ached from the sudden freedom, and a knife was being placed in his uninjured hand. Mark stared at the knife, turned it over and over in his hand. He considered stabbing the reverend for a brief moment, but there were too many Clerics standing with weapons at the ready. And what if they hurt Donghyuk and Jaemin if he did?

            The reverend laughed at Mark’s sudden meekness, the horror of realization flooding his features. He was trapped. They had trapped him.

            “It is up to you.” The reverend said. “Make the sacrifice and call upon Lucifer, or watch your young friends die tonight.”


	15. Day 426- Invocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for ending on a cliffhanger xD Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and comment, it always means a lot and keeps me motivated ^^ Have a great weekend

~~

Day 426

~~

            Johnny felt as if he were suspended in a dream. Just yesterday, he had been in hiding in the Holy sector. Now he, Taeil, Doyoung, Kun and Jeno were outside of the sector walls, sitting in the warmth of a home, surrounded by friends they had thought they may never see alive  again. The air felt different in the outside city: darker, less purified, more rank. But somehow, Johnny still felt freer than he ever had inside the sector.

            After Jaehyun and the Lilin helped them escape, Jaehyun had lead them down a series of twisting alleys until they reached home; a run-down little thing with exposed drywall. A welcome sight. When they entered, it was as if Taeyong, Yuta and the others were frozen in time: just staring… staring… staring as if their eyes were lying to them. And then they had all converged in a tangle of limbs, embracing, throwing questions like darts: _Are you okay? What happened to you after we were parted? How did you escape the Holy Sector? Where are Mark and Donghyuk and Jaemin? Where? Where? Where?_

After the initial thrill of reunion had died down, Taeyong busied himself in the kitchen, braising game meat, making rice in a weathered copper pot. It didn’t take a discerning eye to see just how emaciated Johnny and the others had become in the Holy sector. Even through their heavy robes, Taeyong could see their thinned shoulders, the jut of their clavicle. When he finally set the food down on the table, they ate like starved animals, looking as though they may cry in relief at the sight of honest-to-god meat and root vegetables. Anything other than the bland, thin corn meal they had been rationed at the Holy Sector. It sent stabs of wicked pain through Taeyong. He’d thought they’d had it bad in the outer city, that those under the safety of the church had it easy. Sure, those who lived in the outer city were a little more worn, wounded and scarred from altercation, but they hadn’t inherited the meek, lamb-like demeanors of those in the Holy Sector. Perhaps danger was a better option than oppression. Perhaps they’d been the lucky ones all along.  

            “You guys have gone through a lot.” Taeyong said simply, quietly.

            Jeno swallowed around a large mouthful of food before diplomatically saying: “We all have.”

            “What happened inside the sector after everything transpired? Do you know yet why they took Mark?” Yuta asked, pushing a decanter of awful but potent wine towards them.

            Johnny looked towards Jaehyun for a moment, confusion flooding him. Jaehyun had received their letter from the crow that told about the sector’s plans to summon Lucifer. Hadn’t he told the others about it? Jaehyun was just looking down, his face distant, and suddenly Johnny realized that something was off. For whatever reason, a rift had occurred between Jaehyun and the others. In particular, he was doing everything in his power to not look at Taeyong. It was obvious that Taeyong was different. Even on a physical level, he had changed: his eyes golden and reflective like a cat, his gait a little more lupine and graceful. He had summoned something, that much was obvious. But Johnny didn’t question his decision. He knew Taeyong. He trusted him. It must have been for good reason. But it wasn’t a good sign that Jaehyun was keeping information from the others. It wasn’t good that they were working independently, especially if their ultimate goal was the same: save Mark, Jaemin and Donghyuk.

            “The sector wants to gain dominion over Lucifer’s power. They’re planning on making Mark their vessel.” Taeil said slowly, also picking up on the strange tension that had filled the air. For a moment, there was perfect silence broken only by Ten’s sharp horrified gasp. And then Taeyong was standing up, his chair clattering to the ground from his sudden movements. Yuta winced in surprise at the uncharacteristic fury that flooded their leader’s face, even though it was not aimed at him. Taeyong pointed an accusatory finger at Jaehyun who just regarded him coldly.

            “You knew this! Somehow you knew about this and you didn’t come and tell us right away?!” Taeyong said, his voice quivering with anger.

            “Why do I need to report to you? You aren’t my master.” Jaehyun said, his voice flat and unaffected. He looked so cold. So, so distant. Johnny could only gaze wide eyed in astonishment. They had always been so close, what could have happened between them?

            “If you told me, I could have gone into the sector with you. I could have helped you.”

            “I didn’t need your help. I got them out safely myself, didn’t I?”

            “But not Mark, Donghyuk and Jaemin. You left them behind.” Taeyong said, his eyes flashing under the candlelight.

            Now Jaehyun was standing too, his chair scraping.

            “You think I left them behind by choice? I had no time. I had to get Johnny and the others out first. Besides, there’s no fucking way you could have helped me in the sector. The Lilin were practically falling apart at the seams. You’re no different now. All those holy wards would have crippled you because of that fucking _thing_ you summoned.”

            Something flickered across Taeyong’s face. A grimace as if he was trying to force something down. It was clear when he lost the struggle when his pupils dilated to sharp slivers, yielding to the bright gold in his eyes. He looked animal and beautiful, all quiet indignation. And then he was speaking in a strange voice that everyone instinctually knew was not his own. The demon inside was speaking through him, proud and insidious.

            “Do not underestimate me, child. You think a demon general would not be able to withstand holy wards longer than the Lilin you have been whore to? They don’t hold a candle to my power. Come test me if you think I lie. See if I will not hurt you….”

            Taeyong closed his eyes tightly, as if fighting off a migraine. He beat his temples with the heel of his hand a few times, and when he opened his mouth to speak again, his voice was his own. His pupils were once again rounded.

            “Jaehyun, stop pushing me away. I know you’re mad at me. I know I fucked up, but we can’t work separately in a time like this. I’m not asking you to forgive me. Hate me later, God knows I deserve it” Taeyong faltered for a bit, trying to subdue a sudden verve of misery. He couldn’t imagine a world in which Jaehyun hated him. It was unfathomable. Crushing. But he had to give Jae that option. He couldn’t strip him of his agency to hate and love who he chose. “But for now, please, let’s save the kids together. Please. Please.”

            Yuta watched Jaehyun’s face waver under a myriad of emotions: anger, frustration, absolute, overwhelming misery. For a moment, he was sure the storm of emotion was not over, that he was about to unleash, but it smoothed out. His balled fists relaxed and he sat back down at the table, pulling the decanter of wine towards himself, pouring himself a glass. He drank with a quivering hand, his body suddenly feeling so weak.

            “Fine.” He said simply. He felt Doyoung’s hand reaching for him under the table, giving him a comforting squeeze before letting go.

            Everyone slowly relaxed as some of the tension drained away.

            “How the fuck do we proceed from here?” Hansol asked when the dust settled, the hopelessness of their situation suddenly falling like an avalanche onto their shoulders.

            “We do know that Mark is being kept at the main chapel, where the holy wards are heaviest. Donghyuk and Jaemin, I have no idea.” Johnny said. “And we have Demon King Paimon on our side.”

            He looked towards Taeyong’s room where they had laid the horned demon down to rest. He was a thing of startling beauty. Taeyong could hardly believe that he was a demon, that any physical thing could manifest in such a blisteringly lovely form. He almost hurt to look at: his skin paper white and offset by the most startlingly coal black features. Taeyong knew from reading the Ars Goetia that Paimon was extremely loyal to Lucifer and would do anything for him. That would explain why he had come to the surface unbidden and in his true form. He wanted to stop the summoning and subjugation of his king.

            “Paimon has dominion over a legion of fallen angels. The angels would be a huge help when going against the church, mostly because they used to being of heaven, and can withstand Holy wards  for much longer than demons can.” Johnny said. “But the problem is Paimon is severely weakened right now from being in the Holy Sector for so long. He can’t summon shit until he’s recuperated a bit. Which means our hands are tied for a few days.”

            “A few days? We don’t have a few days. They’re probably trying to get Mark to summon Lucifer as we speak. We’ve got to make our move.” Taeyong said, his golden eyes flashing. His heart soared as he saw Jaehyun nodding solemnly in agreement.

            “We can’t just wait around for Paimon to strengthen. The demon can come help us later, once he feels well enough to call on the fallen.”

            Everyone nodded and stood before Taeyong held up a hand, his old assertiveness as leader coming back. He looked at each of their faces in turn. Though he understood that everyone wanted to help, it would be more of a liability to bring so many people along. Especially considering that all of the members who had been in the Holy Sector had never held a weapon or been in a physical altercation in their lives. Even among those who had been in the outskirts, the only truly competent fighters were himself, Jaehyun, Yuta and Hansol. Ten and Winwin were much too sweet to fight with any conviction. They would get themselves killed. And they still needed someone to navigate inside the sector….

“Jaehyun, Yuta, Hansol and Johnny will come with me. The rest of you, stay here with Paimon until he recuperates.”

The others were opening their mouths to dissent, but Taeyong shushed them gently, clasped all of their hands in turn.

“We’ll be back.” He said, though he was suddenly uncertain. Jaehyun, Yuta and Hansol were arming themselves, but this time not with salt and holy water, but with knives, machetes, pistols. They would probably kill today. That knowledge did not escape any of them.

As they left, Jeno ran forward, grasping Taeyong’s hand like a lifeline.

“You’ll come back. You’ll all come back. Do you promise?” He asked, his voice wavering, and it struck Taeyong just how young Jeno was. He was only seventeen, still only a boy and he had already lost the whole world. They all had. The world was dead. They all only had one another.

“Yes. I promise.” Taeyong said, leaning down to plant a kiss along Jeno’s hairline. And then they were running into the oppressive silence of the night. Taeyong heard Jaehyun, Yuta,  Hansol and Johnny’s footfalls close behind and he couldn’t help but fall into wild prayer in his head. He didn’t believe that any god was listening, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to hang his faith on something in this moment, because oh lord, what if he was leading his loved ones to their deaths? What if none of them came out of this alive?

**Why are you praying, young master? No one is listening? Only me.**

_I’m fucking terrified._

**Of death?**

_I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid of the people around me dying. I’m fucking scared. I can barely think._

Ose chuckled a little in his head, but Taeyong could mostly only concentrate on the beat of their five pairs of feet on the pavement. Thump, thump, thump.

**You are stupidly noble. This is why I like you. I was drawn to your reckless lack of self love. If you want so badly to protect your dear friends, why not let me take control for now? Make full use of my power, young master. It’ll serve you well.**

Taeyong remembered the dizzying surge of power he felt when he ordered the plague on the sector, how terrified but drunkenly strong he felt when driving that cultist to insanity. That had been Ose’s power channeled through the filter of his mind. If he let Ose take control temporarily, would he better be able to keep everyone safe?

**Let me take control. I’ll keep your friends safe. You need only to fight me off when you want to regain control. Let me take over. I’ll be a good animal.**

Taeyong felt his resolve weakening, and slowly his control wavered. He felt himself sinking into a corner of his mind as Ose suddenly expanded everywhere, taking control of his head and limbs, and suddenly it was as if Taeyong was merely a spectator, seeing the world through Ose’s eyes. The demon was purring in pleasure.

As they neared the gate of the holy sector and the line of clerics readying their rifles, Taeyong felt Ose’s power beginning to coil in the pit of his stomach. He was calling upon the animals of the city. A sharp cawing overhead drew their attention skyward, and Yuta gasped sharply as he saw the night sky blackening with hundreds of crows, careening earthbound.

**Rip off the masks. Blind them. Attack their eyes, the soft meat of their faces.**

The crows fell upon the line of clerics in a wild flurry of wings. Some of the clerics went down quickly, immediately overpowered by the sheer weight of dozens of birds converging on them at once. The ones that struggled were worse off. The birds ripped the plague doctor masks from their faces and pecked at their eyes, rupturing the corneas, sending pink fluid down their faces in diluted streams.

“Oh god. Oh god. You’re doing this.” Hansol said to Taeyong, grabbing his shoulder and looking at him wildly. “This is you.”

Taeyong didn’t answer. Ose was still in control, and when he spoke through Taeyong’s body, his voice was lower and foreign. “You waste time to protest the treatment of these clerics? Do you wish to save your young friends or not?”

Hansol didn’t have an answer. He could barely see amongst the hurricane of tar black feathers. The clerics that hadn’t abandoned post were shooting their rifles blindly now, rupturing a few bird bodies with a spray of bullets, but there were always a dozen more in its place. Hansol grabbed one of the cleric’s rifles, kicking sharply to wrench it from his grip. Amidst the chaos, he saw Yuta and Jaehyun doing the same.

“Go!” Johnny shouted as the last cleric fell to the floor, clutching his ruined face. The flesh was gouged raw like the meat of an over-ripe stone fruit. If Hansol wasn’t so distracted, he may have gagged.

Together they all surged through the gate, leaving the crows behind. Inside the sector, the air was still thrumming with locusts, the ground still covered in undulating rat bodies, and in the corner of his mind, Taeyong felt Ose calling out to the wildcats of Seoul, all the dozens and dozens of starved mountain lions and cougars.

**Come to dinner, sweet beasts.**

Taeyong felt a thrill of horror. There were still innocent people in the Holy sector. He shouldn’t be calling wildcats over like laying out a banquet.

 _Give me back control._ Taeyong ordered, but Ose ignored him, pushed on with his wild games.

“The main chapel is this way.” Johnny shouted over the din of insect and bird. He pointed as a beautiful sloping edifice of marble and stained glass. The church had really done a number to ensure that Lucifer could be contained. The holy presence even outside the chapel was overwhelming, every inch of it covered in cross and scripture. It was actually starting to physically hurt Taeyong, his whole body feeling hotter, a desperate sort of burning.  Someone from the belltower was spilling rivulets of holy water down the face of the building. It ran off into the streets, flooding the cobblestone at Taeyong’s feet. He felt the holy water burn his skin as if it were scalding. Ose hissed in displeasure, but urged his body onward.

 **Lucifer mustn’t be disturbed.** Ose said, finally serious.

_Stop them. Please stop them._

There was no one guarding the entrance to the chapel. The rats and locust had made any guards abandon post long ago. Hansol ran forward and pushed the door open, and they all entered into the atrium inside.

 

~~

 

            “Donghyuk-ah…” Mark gazed at the younger with horrified eyes. His once round face was gaunt and weathered, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes. He’d never seen the usually playful and mischievous boy looking so defeated. In his arms, he was cradling Jaemin. A dark purple bruise decorated the side of his head, a small gash opened in the center. It was untreated, the wound just laid out in the open. Was it infected?  And why was Jaemin lying so… so still. So horribly still.

            With a choked sob, Mark stumbled forward, reaching out his arms to catch the two younger members in an embrace, but a cleric grabbed hold of his shoulders, dragging him back. His feet splashed in the holy water flooded floor.

            “He’s alive.” The reverend called out. “The young boy is alive, and the sooner you call upon Lucifer, the sooner we let them go free. We’ll even treat their injuries. What do you say, will you do it?”

            Mark gritted his teeth, tried to ball his hands into fists until he realized he couldn’t move most of the fingers of his left hand. All but his thumb had been broken, bent hopelessly out of shape like a tree branch in winter. He would likely never be able to use that hand again.

            “Why do you ask it like a question? You’re not giving me a choice.” He spit out. The reverend shook his head.

            “There is a choice here, young man. Make the sacrifice and summon the demon king, and see your friends live, or refuse and watch them die. What do you say?”

            Mark looked up towards the sacrifice, the man chained to the wall. His skin was ruptured and reddened from the blood vessels he’d burst from sobbing. His eyes were protruding so far out of his head he almost looked like a cartoon. Whether that was from hysteria or starvation, Mark wasn’t sure. Mark didn’t know his name. He wasn’t sure of his age. He wasn’t sure what the man’s life had been like before the underworld opened its jaw. He wasn’t sure of anything, except that he was sorry. So, so sorry because he’d already made up his mind about his fate. And against Jaemin and Donghyuk’s lives, this stranger never stood a chance. Mark had to save his dongsaengs. He just had to. But this didn’t mean he wasn’t horrified. That he wouldn’t be wracked with guilt over it for the rest of his life, however long or short that may be.

            He clipped the sacrificial knife the cleric had given him around his belt, and took a few stuttering steps towards the man. He was shaking, straining against the chains begging: “Leave me alone, leave me alone, leav—

            “Donghyukie, don’t look.” Mark said softly behind his shoulder as he stepped closer to the sacrifice, ripping a sleeve off of his shirt, he gently tied it around the man’s eyes. It would be better if he didn’t see what was about to happen to him. It would be better.

            The man’s lower lip was trembling, as if he were frostbitten, and for the first time, he spoke without the distortion of hysteria.

            “I have a daughter. I have a wife at home, please…”

            Mark could feel his own breath quickening as he stared into the face of the first man he would ever kill. The wetness of his tears were beginning to soak through the cloth Mark had tied over his eyes; two wet blossoms on a tablecloth. Somehow, Mark felt as though he were the one about to be slaughtered. The dozens of clerics were murmuring all around him, holding up their holy wards at the ready. From the loudspeakers overhead, scripture was pouring. His feet were submerged ankle deep in holy water. The church was ready for the coming of Lucifer. They were ready to trap him.

            “I’m sorry.” He said, raising his knife. Donghyuk was calling something out from behind him, but Mark couldn’t hear. He could hardly concentrate. He felt the knife bite down in a horrifying crunch of bone and tendon, and he practically blacked out on the spot. It seemed like suddenly screaming was all he could hear, all around him. It was as if the very walls had sprouted throats to cry out from. His hands were shaking and shaking, but he had to be meticulous. He slowly carved out the man’s chest, a circle with an inverted star trapped inside, the sigil of Baphomet. The devil’s sign, like the ones that had been burned onto his own body by the reverend himself. Mark felt the sigils on his chest and back beginning to burn and flare, he could see how they were beginning to emit light even through the cotton of his shirt. Oh god, he felt like he was burning.

            The man had stopped screaming a while ago, his chest a ruptured mess and Mark was on his knees. His hands quivering, the broken fingers on his left hand dangling like a dead thing. He tried to heave, but it was futile. Nothing but water and acid, and he was sick. Sweating.

            “You’ve made the sacrifice. Now the incantation, the invocation. Finish what you’ve started.” Reverend Yoo said eagerly, his eyes flashing like a headlight in the darkness. And Mark was flooded with hate, so dark it petrified him. Lucifer would like this darkness. He would want it, he wouldn’t be able to resist it. But Mark couldn’t help how he felt when his hands were covered in an innocent man’s blood. He hated the revered. He hated the clerics and everything they stood for. All of them. He would see them all burn.

            “I will.” Mark hissed, his vision hazed with fury. “But you’re a fucking imbecile if you think I’ll lose myself to him. If you don’t think I’ll remember how much I hate you. And when Lucifer possesses me, he’ll inherit all of my anger. And I’ll make him slaughter you all.”

            For the first time, Mark saw a small flicker of anxiety behind the reverend’s eyes, and he felt a wicked jolt of satisfaction. They would regret forcing this upon him. He would make them all regret it.

            Over the din of everything, he heard Donghyuk’s soft voice and turned to look at him. He was still cradling Jaemin’s frame, and his eyes were so, so terrified.

            “Don’t do it, hyung.” He mouthed, desperate. But his eyes confessed he already knew it was too late, Mark was out of options. He was doing it to save them.

            Mark smiled in a way he hoped was comforting. “I thought I told you not to look.”

            He turned his back, concentrating on the little egg of darkness that had settled inside his heart. He took up the Latin invocation, saw a flood of deep red wash over his vision. Everywhere in the city, candlelight wavered and flickered off. Even the light of the moon eventually was extinguished.


	16. Chapter 426- Devil's Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So is anyone else pumped for the NCT life cooking show? I'm SOOOOOOO excited to watch Yuta try to handle himself in the kitchen xD Anyway, this chapter is very unedited and rough, so please forgive any mistakes there may be. Thank you as always for those who take the time to read and comment. I appreciate all of you :D hehe
> 
> Ps: The lovely Ohimeruu made me a bombass poster for this story that is now on the chapter 1 page of this story for anyone who wants to see her amazing work <3

~~

Day 426

~~

            Smoke was rising from the holy sector, dense white fumes rising like pillars of salt over the great wall that divided their city. Kun and Winwin watched it through their window, hands clasped and horrified. The holy sector was burning, the air above it running red and rancid. And their friends were in there. Their friends…

            “They’ll be okay.” Kun muttered, as much to comfort himself as to comfort Sicheng. He ran comforting circles along the streets of his palm. When the younger began to cry, he pressed his lips lovingly to each knuckle. “It’ll all be okay.”

             Kun was just readying another word of reassurance when all the gas lamps flickered, once, twice, as if disturbed by a petulant wind; before the flames went out altogether and they were submerged in darkness. All around the city, candle flame went out with a wisp of smoke, as if drawn to some larger fire burning elsewhere.  And then suddenly, even the moon.

            Ten, Doyoung and the others ran into the living room, their faces livid with disbelief.

           “Look at the sky!” They said wildly, for even the moon had impossibly been extinguished. “Look at the goddamned m—

           The darkness would have been absolute, if not for the red haze of inferno coming from the Holy sector. They gazed out their window, dumbstruck. In Taeyong’s room, the demon Paimon slowly sat up on the bed, looking at the stigmata that cleaved a bloody, cross shaped hole through his palms. Away from the holy wards of the sector, it was healing quickly, new tissue growing in the void, pinkish new skin slowly wrapping around the raw flesh. He would be able to call on the fallen soon. But soon was not soon enough. The demon knew it was already too late. Lucifer was being called to the surface. Only the morning-star himself could blot out the light of the moon.

           Outside, on the streets of the outer city, the possessions laughed wildly, clapped their hands. They fell to their knees, bowing in the direction of the fire.

 

~~

 

            Reverend Yoo was practically giddy with excitement. It was happening. It was finally, finally happening. This time would be successful, he was sure of it. He watched the boy Mark take up the Latin invocation, his face crumpled from thinly veiled pain. The devil sigil’s that they had burned on his chest and back were beginning to blaze red, leaking crimson light even through the cotton of his shirt. It must have felt like he was doused in hellfire, because his voice was strangled, his knees were buckling. He propped himself weakly over the dead body of the sacrifice, the ruined chest opening like a bloody lotus until it emitted light and strange heat: a portal to the underworld. The portal through which Lucifer would arrive. And the church was prepared to trap the demon upon his arrival. They had engraved the floor around which Mark stood with a salt fused devil’s trap: a circle of sigils that, once activated, would subjugate even the strongest of demons.

            Mark finished his invocation, and for a while there was deafening silence, punctuated only by the young boy’s labored breathing and Donghyuk’s horrified gasp. The clerics all around held up their gilded crosses at the ready, just in case this should fail, just in case they needed to protect themselves from Lucifer’s rage. The moments dragged on, until suddenly a tall shadow was rising from the portal. The presence was so dark, so overwhelmingly powerful, everyone could only hold their breath.

            Mark looked up at the shadow. It was barely in the form of a man, Mark could make out no features. No face, just a formless black veil. But suddenly he heard its voice in his head. It was everywhere, ricocheting like a bullet in an empty room.

            **My vessel should never fall to his knees.**

            The voice was surprisingly soft, coaxing. Mark opened his eyes and noticed for the first time that somewhere along the line, he had fallen on his hands and knees; his face inches away from the sacrifice’s bleach white, blood drained face. Everywhere smelled like iron. He wanted the retch, but couldn’t. He launched himself up, standing unsteadily. He swallowed hard, trying to will himself not to panic, but he was standing bookended between a man he murdered, and a king of hell. He couldn’t, couldn’t control his terror.

            The shadow was slowly beginning to calibrate before Mark’s eyes like a glitching television screen. In the dark form, he saw brief suggestions of a face, a naked statuesque body, gleaming red eyes: such insidious, seductive beauty.

            “Lucifer.” Mark breathed aloud in the room that was so densely quiet you could hear a drop of rain falling on a leaf.

**Yes.**

             Mark felt the tears beginning to fall down his cheek despite himself. This was really happening. Amidst the chaos, he had been able to suspend the knowledge of the magnitude of what could happen, but the reality was crashing down on him now. He glanced towards where Donghyuk was kneeling, a line of clerics blocking him partially from view. He looked dumbstruck with fear, cradling Jaemin close to him. Mark swallowed hard on the verve of his emotion. He was doing this for them. He could not allow himself to be weak or to despair.

 _Lend me your power._ Mark said in his mind, hoping he sounded more convincingly confident than he felt. But Lucifer could hear his trepidation. Of course he could. Mark felt the demon probing his mind.

**You don’t genuinely want this union. And yet you have the hubris to call upon me. Why?**

_I have no choice. They’re not giving me a choice._  Mark thought, embarrassingly aware that he sounded like a pentulant child, but he was past the point of caring. He would grovel for help if he had to.

            The clerics around suddenly began to take up a chant and the portal in the sacrifice’s chest was closing, the red light swallowing itself. Mark felt the telltale signs of a panic attack mounting in his mind, because oh god, they had closed the portal back to the underworld, there was no turning back now.

_I’ve come this far, so lend me your power. Help me make these motherfuckers regret everything. I need you._

            Mark’s mind was suddenly overtaken by a flurry of imagination: the dark dreamings he’d had while locked up, beaten, humiliated. He imagined a cleric’s face beneath his boot, a flash of fire overtaking the wood planks of all the tables the clergy overfilled with libations and rich food as their people outside starved, veins bursting in an eye. Suddenly he wanted revenge like a violent thirst. The reverends had hurt everyone he loved and had not yet lost, it was because of them he couldn’t be with his friends. It was their fault Donghyuk’s formerly playful eyes were filled with horror, and Jaemin’s head was lolling back weakly like a ragdoll’s.

_Just buy me enough time for my two friends to get out of here alive. And after, you can help me fuck these bastards up, or you can devour me. Whatever you want, but please. I need you now._

            Mark felt Lucifer observing with probing red eyes. He hardly seemed perturbed that the portal had already closed behind him. What was he thinking? Mark was just about ready to believe he’d been refused when wordlessly, he felt the demon entering him. For a brief second, he felt a flood of relief and sick joy. He’d been accepted. He was worthy. And then came the unbearable burning. Fire had overtaken his entire body, blazing out of control. It was wretched. All around, he heard human screaming until he realized dully in the back of his mind that that was his voice. He was screaming, and of course he was. He was on fire.

            **Open your eyes.** Lucifer said in his head. **I give you dominion over fire.**

            Mark dragged in his breath in ragged gasps and opened his eyes, looking down at the skin of his arms. Yes, he was indeed engulfed in bright red flames, but his skin was perfect and intact. It wasn’t crisping and darkening like any other burning person. He was immaculate. Whole. But that still didn’t stop the pain, until it was pushed to the backburner of his mind when another fresh wave of hurt blotted  it out. It was as if the bones of his back and skull were reforming underneath his skin, melting, amalgamating, pushing agonizingly outward. He bent double, scrabbling desperately at his back. And then he felt it, the unmistakable jut of bone that continued sprouting out and out of his right shoulder-blade. The unmistakable skeleton of a single massive wing, singed black and featherless, and from the right side of his skull, a single curved horn. Mark could hardly think for how hard he was hyperventilating. The flames had died down and he opened his eyes, caught sight of his own reflection in the holy water flooded ground. His very heart jumped into his throat. It was as if his body were folded into opposites personas of one being: his left side human, his right side hellish with a massive skeletal wing, the horn of a ram, and an eye the reflective red of a headlight. A beautiful monster. An anomaly. He choked down a sob.

            **Burn them.** Lucifer said in his mind. **May they regret daring to impinge upon us.**

            A foreign power was overwhelming him, filling the very tips of his fingers with heat. Fire, fire, fire. Dimly, he was aware that the city outside was going up in flames. He had done that. In merging with Lucifer, he had sparked an inferno that wouldn’t relent for hours. He got up from the floor, glancing to his left at a random cleric. They met eyes, and as if by spontaneous combustion, he was on fire, running, wildly trying to shed his burning robes, but it was no use. There was no escaping this retribution, the fat of his flesh was already crackling, collapsing until he was little more than a wizened mummy of a person, somehow still squirming on the ground, crying out from his gone lips. This fire did not kill immediately, the immolation was slow. The more human part of Mark’s mind squalled at the sight of what should have been a long dead person still writhing on the ground, but the hellish half could only smile cruelly; a cool wash of indifference washing over him. Why should he pity those that pitied no one? Those that were content to watch their people starve while they fattened themselves on wine? Who impinged upon children in exchange for a meager satchel of rice? Mark didn’t care. He would watch them all burn.

            He lifted his hand, and watched another line of clerics burn before they could even life up their holy wards. The air was ripening with the sound of human screaming, and this time it was not his own. The reverends were scrambling back, for the first time, even Reverend Yoo’s face was cleaved with something like horror as the clerics in front of him raised up their crosses. The sight of the holy wards made Mark flinch, and in his head, he heard Lucifer hiss with something like anger. But the feeling was gone in a moment, replaced by fresh indignance. He lifted up his hand again, preparing to douse the room in hellfire, when a horribly, impossibly familiar voice cut through the scene.

            “MARK!”

            Jaehyun. It was Jaehyun. Mark swung, the clergy all but forgotten as he saw Taeyong, Jaehyun, Johnny, Yuta and Hansol streaming into the room followed by, inexplicably, a horde of wild-cats; great mountain lions and pumas that fell upon the clerics with their massive claws and teeth. Starved for so long, they tore at them, feasted. But Mark was too busy staring at his friends to notice the carnage. He was too busy staring at Taeyong’s golden eyes, the unmistakable miasma of a demon on his hyung’s body to notice the clerics that had not been slaughtered taking up a chant. He didn’t notice the circular Devil’s trap symbol emblazoned on the floor of the room slowly beginning to take up a faint white glow.  

            “Hyung…” Mark said, and despite how different he looked, his voice was just the same. Still sweet and uncertain. Taeyong could only stare in mute horror at the single charred wing sprouting from Mark’s right shoulder. Even Ose was quiet in his mind, shrinking back and uncertain.

            **Before he was a demon, Lucifer was an angel of morning. The first angel ousted from the gates of heaven. His wings burned off during the descent so he couldn’t fly home. And now the boy too…**

            The skeletal wing twitched as if wracked in a millennia-long pain. Taeyong’s vision was white with disbelief. Mark had been accepted as Lucifer’s vessel. They were too late. Perhaps they never even stood a chance.

            “Oh Mark…” He whispered under his breath as he watched his young friend watching him. All around him was commotion, the wildcats crunching sickeningly on bone, the gunpowder and smoke from the gunfire Yuta, Hansol and the clerics were exchanging. And still, some clerics were chanting, desperate under their breaths, and the devil’s trap was growing brighter, brighter until the circle was almost perfectly illuminated. Hansol noticed just a moment too late what was happening. He ran forward, abandoning his rifle to unsheathe a knife, meaning to plunge it into the throat of the cleric chanting to power up the devil’s trap, but he couldn’t reach him in time before the circle was complete.

            It was as if the world burst open in an explosion of white light. Taeyong felt his body being blasted away from the circle. He landed hard on his side, even Ose cursing profusely in his head as he sat up, shaking his head slowly so his vision returned. Everyone who had been standing inside of the devil’s trap had been blasted away, their non- demon bodies rebuked. The room was filled with plumes of dust from the impact of the devil’s trap activation, and even the marble ceilings were beginning to spiderweb with cracks. Taeyong quickly swept the room to ensure his friends were unhurt, before looking towards the center of the illuminated circle. There was only Mark and his one wing, his red eye, his single horn, beautiful in the way all fallen angels are inevitably beautiful. On his face was mute horror, as if realizing that all at once his power was bound.

            Suddenly, one of the reverends was laughing wildly, unfolding from the ground with a look of unmistakable success in his eyes. From the corner of his eye, Taeyong saw Hansol and Yuta creeping towards Donghyuk and Jaemin. They hoisted the youngest onto their shoulders as if prepared to make a run for it. Because of course they intuited what was about to happen. They all had. Taeyong knew the words that were about to escape the reverend’s mouth, even before he spoke them.

            His fingers shivering in barely contained glee, he pointed a quivering finger at Taeyong and the others.

            “Lucifer, I order you to burn them all.”


	17. Day 427

~~

Day 426

~~

 

            There was barely a split second after the Reverend’s order for Taeyong to react. He saw Mark’s eyes glaze as Lucifer took over. He was raising his hand, his palm already glowing and wavering with red heat. He was going to do it. He was going to burn them.

            Taeyong felt Ose desperately seizing the reins of his mind, and this time he willingly let him because he could not handle the magnitude of this situation. Nothing could have prepared him for this: to see Mark raising his hand to harm them, even if the intent was not his. It was enough to make him want to curl up on the floor and give up, let the fire overpower. But he couldn’t. Not when his friends were still here, defenseless.

            Ose was reaching out, infiltrating the minds of the first few clerics around them. He was quickly weaving madness into their minds, letting them think they were not in a holy ward laced chapel with Lucifer himself, but rather in a meadow. Taeyong saw the illusions Ose was weaving in their minds: a balmy fall day, the deciduous orange of poplar trees all around. And from the distance, their long dead loved ones from a life they hardly remembered was running towards them. Taeyong watched in horror as the clerics sauntered in front of them, blocking Mark from his vision. In their head, they believed they were running towards someone they loved. It was a merciful death, Taeyong tried to remind himself as Mark waved his hand and they all burst into flames. But even Ose’s intricately weaved wash of insanity could not blot out the pain of hellfire. They were bellowing until their throats blistered, burst.

            “We’re retreating!” Ose shouted through Taeyong’s mouth, and his body was suddenly sprinting away with the demon’s prompting. His friends quickly caught up to him, and his heart leapt in a short lived relief as he saw that Yuta and Hansol had Donghyuk and Jaemin with them. The chaos around them was unimaginable. From somewhere behind, the reverend was screaming commands for them to burn.

            Desperate, Ose called out to the animals; all the mountain lions and cicadas to cast their bodies between them and Mark. They all went up in a wall of fire, their roars and collective hums drowning almost everything out. The stench of burning meat and fur sent quivers of disgust through him. Despite the chaos, Taeyong couldn’t help but feel a wash of pity for the wild-cats. The poor beasts. The poor, poor animals; starved for months only to go up in flames at the prompting of their cruel master. The chapel was filling to the ceiling with plumes of smoke. Taeyong’s eyes watered. The entrance was still a distance away, and there was nothing left for Ose to control and use as living shields against the flames. They were defenseless targets.

            “Don’t let them get away, burn them! Burn them!” The Reverend was shouting, his voice echoing and cavernous. Nevermind the fact that dozens of his clerics had been burned, pushed to insanity, shot, eaten alive by wildcats; he still sounded wildly joyous with success. It didn’t matter how many casualties there were, he had succeeded and had the most powerful demon of them all at his control. That was all that mattered.

            It was useless. They wouldn’t make it out of the chapel in time. Taeyong kept pushing his friends to run faster, faster, even as the despair washed over him. It was hopeless. They would all die in this god forsaken sector at the hands of one of their best friends.

            Taeyong dared to look back. If he was going to die by Mark’s hands, he wanted to see his face. Wanted to express with his eyes that he didn’t blame him. That he knew this was all outside of his control. Even from the distance, Mark’s right eye was startlingly bright red, reflecting like a lighthouse beam on a foggy night. The Devil’s trap was still glowing a bright red circle at his feet as he raised his fingertips, the air before them beginning to glow red. Taeyong stared at Mark’s raised hand. The fingers were hooked at a strange angle, bent like a question and claw-like. Clearly broken. The realization struck Taeyong like a knife. He’d been tortured. The sector had broken his fingers to coerce him to merge with Lucifer, and who knows what else they did? It was almost a relief to Taeyong that Lucifer had taken over. Perhaps even as his body was moving, Mark was finally at rest. Perhaps he was no longer feeling any pain, just suspended in the ether, letting the demon take control and suffer on his behalf. A well deserved oblivion after enduring a solid week of unknowable torture.

            _Oh Mark… brave Mark. I’m proud of you._

Taeyong was prepared for the fire to engulf them all. But it never came. Instead, the devil’s trap was suddenly flickering wildly at Mark’s feet like a light switch being flicked on and off. And Mark was rooted to the spot, his hand still up in the air, but on his face, a small war was raging. The glassy distant look was gone, replaced by what could only be described as pain. His eyes were shut and furrowed, his jaw set so hard, the tendon was jutting from the line of his neck. He kept opening and closing his mouth as if to speak, but he never found the voice. Mark opened his eyes just as the Devil’s trap flickered violently and in that very moment, he abruptly turned his hands away from Taeyong and the others. Reverend Yoo cursed and dove away just in time to escape the vortex of fire, but the other Reverends were not as lucky. The scent of burning flesh took to the air again. And Taeyong could not believe his eyes. He knew just from the concentrated expression on his face that this was Mark’s will, not Lucifer’s. Somehow he had regained or was given control, and he was seizing it to try and kill the head reverend.

            “Keep going. Get them out of here.” Taeyong gasped to Yuta and Hansol. They looked as if they wanted to protest, but Jaemin and Donghyuk were draped like corpses on their backs. They needed to get them to safety. They took off at a sprint, out the chapel door. Johnny trailing close behind.

            Taeyong turned back to watch Mark, unable to tear his eyes away from his young friend. It felt as if roots had grown out of the soles of his feet and he couldn’t, couldn’t move. He couldn’t bear to leave him behind again. He couldn’t bear it a second time.

            The Devil’s trap’s light was recalibrating, slowly returning to glow a solid white again and Mark was clutching his head in obvious pain, reaching behind his back with his one good hand. He grabbed his burned wing, and was pulling, pulling, pulling as if eradicating it would make his merging with Lucifer not real. But the wing was sprouted from his bone, of course it would not easily fall away. Taeyong saw rather than heard Mark’s dry sobbing, and he almost began to run back to him, away from the safety of outside. But someone was grasping his hand. He looked, and realized with a dull start that it was Jaehyun. Jaehyun who he had wronged, who should have left him behind without a thought.

            “Why didn’t you go?” Taeyong asked. Jaehyun’s eyes were glassy with fear and sadness, but his voice didn’t waver.

            “I can’t leave you behind after all.” He said, clasping his hand and pulling him towards the door.

            Behind them, Reverend Yoo was barking out commands to the few remaining clerics.

            “The boy still fights against out control. Purify him.”

            They were throwing bucketful after bucketful of holy water on Mark. His body wracked in violent tremors as it were boiling water, and Taeyong was going to lose it.

            “We can’t do anything for him now. We need to retreat.” Jaehyun said desperately, leading Taeyong towards the door. “We have to go.”

            They exited the chapel into open air that still smelled of burning. Hands clasped, they fled into the perfect darkness of a moonless night.

 

~~

Day 427

~~

            For the first hour of being repeatedly doused in Holy water, Mark was cursedly conscious. He felt everything, every rivulet running down his face and back that felt like acid being poured on him. He could see the reverend in his blurred vision telling him to _obey, obey, fucking obey._

And then Lucifer was re-awakening in his mind. He felt the demon nudging him away from control.

**There is nothing for you to see here, boy. Rest.**

It was as if Mark was standing on a precipice, and Lucifer pushed him off. He lost dominion over his mind and body, falling into a rabbit hole of image. He saw a blank canvas, then suddenly earth and sky. A gorgeous sunrise washing everything in blood orange hues. Then he saw glimpses of a pearlescent city of impossible beauty, the milk of dawn, winged beings in the form of man. Perfect and beautiful, a realm of angels. And then suddenly, a darkness was gashing across the memory, a familiar voice cleaving through it. Mark recognized it. Lucifer’s voice.

**But Father, why should mankind be favored above the angels built more closely in your likeness? Why should the order of angels be messenger and subordinate to man?**

            Before his vision, Mark saw a lustrous golden throne. He was walking towards it, reaching out his hand… He could be a fair and just leader. He too could be adored… He wanted it. He wanted it…

            And then suddenly the sky was churning red and horrible all around him. Heaven was burning, angels plummeting to earth with plumes of smoke rising from their charred wings. A voice of inconceivable power ringing in his head: _How you are fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How you are cut down to the ground, You who weakened the nations! For you have said in your heart: 'I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God;I will also sit on the mount of the congregation On the farthest sides of the north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds, I will be like the Most High._

And suddenly he was falling. He was falling forever, the heavens growing further and further away from him. All around, were the burned feathers of his brothers and sisters, and his too. He could feel the impotence of his burned wings, the skeletal frame no longer capable of flight. He was banished from the heavenly realm that he loved so dearly. Banished…. And…

            The images were traveling past Mark’s mind faster and faster. He saw fire. He saw a perfect garden and two naked figures in it, an apple. He saw whole cities washed away in a great flood, their waterlogged faces blued and bloated. Lucifer’s memories. All of them.

            _Stop it, I don’t want to see anymore._

            **Some might consider this an honor. Through me you’ve seen creation, the war of the angels, the garden of paradise, the great flood. I share this knowledge with only my vessel.**

_I don’t want to see._

**Are you familiar with the story of Adam and Eve, boy?**

_Who isn’t?_

**I was the snake in the garden. It was I who urged Eve to partake in the fruit of knowledge. Before me, she was only an empty husk. Only meat. I gave her the gift of free will and rational thought.**

_Why are you telling me this?_

**I tell you this to remind you of my greatest and only gift to mankind. Millennia ago, I gave Eve the gift of free will. A gift she passed down to all of her progeny. Do not make a fool of me by wasting my gift now. You will always have free will, no matter how hard others try to strip it from you.**

_You can’t be serious. Free will? The clergy have had me locked up for days. They broke my fingers and threatened my friends, and you think I still had a choice to…_

Mark was suddenly returned to his body, Lucifer’s voice receding in his head. He gasped as his eyes flew open and the litany of memories that were not his own suddenly left him. His clothes were absolutely drenched and he was freezing. He sat up, producing a small orb of fire in his hands, hoping it would chase away the cold. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d almost burned the reverend and was doused with Holy water. It could have been hours, or days. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wasn’t in that same chapel anymore. He was locked in a cell, all four walls and the ceiling were activated with devil’s traps, and he felt so, so weak. Almost as if each of his limbs were weighed down with oceanic pressure.

            In his head, Lucifer’s voice was still ringing. Free will, he had said. Free will. Mark looked down at his broken fingers, tucked his head into his knees, and cried.

 

~~

 

            “Boil the rags, hurry!” Taeyong said as Hansol quickly laid Jaemin on his bed. The boy was bleach white and shaking, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

            Ten dumped a bunch of rags in a vat of boiling water with some peppermint oil, the closest they could come to sterilization. When Taeyong and the others returned, Ten had been expecting a happy reunion. But they had returned with a distraught look in their eyes, no Mark, and a very ill looking Jaemin. Ten’s hands were shaking as he wrung out the hot rags and ran back into Hansol’s room. Everyone was gathered around the bed, Winwin and Kun clutching each other, Jeno holding a very thin Donghyuk up. But all of their attention was on Jaemin.

            The only visible injury was on the right side of his head: a bloody gash that seemed to have opened from blunt force. It was a rather minor injury, but had clearly been left untreated for long. Taeyong could tell from the slightly whitened hue that it was infected. That would explain Jaemin’s cold sweats and terrible fever. The infection had gotten into his blood.

            Cursing, Taeyong blotted away at his gash, treating it, but it was days too late. The damage was already done. The wound had already been infected.

            Jaemin’s thin frame was wracked in increasingly violent tremors, and Taeyong was not sure he had ever been so afraid. Not even when calling on Ose. Not even when Mark had nearly turned his fire on them.

            “Bring us some more blankets. Quickly!” 

            Yuta ran out and returned with wools upon wools. Taeyong threw them over the younger boy, hoping that the warmth might help alleviate the shivering. But nothing was helping… nothing.

            Jeno was kneeling beside the bed now, his eyes reflective with unshed tears because this was his best friend. His very best friend lying prone on the bed. He reached out with a finely quivering hand. He brushed the chestnut brown hair from the younger’s eyes, remembered running to school, causing havoc in the classroom, practicing and eating and laughing together. He never dreamed he would see his best friend in such a state. He wasn’t equipped to handle it.

            He swore the breath almost caught in his throat when he saw Jaemin’s eyes flutter open. They roamed the ceiling until finally falling on Jeno. His eyes were unfocused and faraway, clearly disoriented. For a while, he just stared as if trying to find his words, and then when he finally spoke, his voice was a dwindling candle flame.

            “Hyung we have to go.” Jaemin said, his fingertips wrapping lightly around Jeno’s.

            Whatever thin barrier that had been holding back the tears finally burst, but Jeno didn’t let that show in his voice. It remained steady.

            “Where do we have to go, Nana?”

            Jaemin’s eyes were fighting to find focus, his speech slurring.

            “We… have practice today. Manager hyung will be mad…. If we’re late.”

            Taeyong felt his breath catch in his throat. Jaemin was disoriented. Or he was hallucinating. Taeyong’s body didn’t want to accept it, what his mind already knew was true. Jaemin’s body was shutting down. He was watching it before his very eyes, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do. His vision was splintering before him, fogging. He couldn’t breathe. But he had to step in. He had to step in because Jeno was drowning, stuttering, utterly past words.

            Taeyong knelt beside him, reaching around his shoulders to clasp Jaemin’s glacial hand tightly between his own.

            “Manager hyung says we’ve worked so hard, we can have a day off today.” Taeyong swallowed hard, fighting hard to keep his voice under control because he refused to break down now. That could come later. He wanted Jaemin to be happy. He wanted him not to worry.

“So why don’t you go back to sleep, and when you wake up we can all go out and do something fun..”

            Sunlight was blooming on Jaemin’s face, so brilliant it cleaved Taeyong’s heart in two. Perhaps this was a merciful way to go, perhaps this was Jaemin’s mind giving him one last gift: to leave this earth believing it had never been shattered.

            “Wake me up in an hour, hyung.” Jaemin said, as he closed his eyes, his lashes darkening his cheek. And Taeyong couldn’t take it anymore. The tears were starting to fall.

“Okay Nana, I will.”

            In Jaemin’s fever addled mind, he saw a bright pillar of color reaching skyward. He saw a litany of memories: his childhood, a fishing stream where little guppies darted, a school yard reddened with cherry blossom petals. He saw the faces of his friends in rest and in practice, a bright stage with people screaming their names. He saw hands reaching for him through the darkness, holding him with love. The last candle in the dark flickering off. He heard the voice of his mother, sweeter than honeysuckle. He heard, he heard, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First character death.... I feel pretty heartbroken because Jaemin is one of my biases along with Mark, TY and JH. I'm sorry if this story is getting too depressing. I appreciate everyone who is along with me for this ride <3


	18. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope everyone has been well! Sorry for this chapter being so brief, school is really grinding my gears. In all honesty, I have been feeling a little bit discouraged with writing this story (still am a bit). I guess I'm kind of in a writing funk, but also because this story entering its final arc after this chapter, and I have very little planned and don't want to disapoint. I have not even the faintest idea of how to tie this beast together. But your kind words always keep me motivated to keep writing, so thank you <3

~~

Day 427

~~

 

            The night grew cold, grew meaningless. To them, life had suddenly been split into two incongruent halves: the hour before the death and the hour after. Some like Yuta, Ten and Jaehyun cried until the whites of their eyes were red with blown vessels. Others like Taeil and Hansol sat in dumbstruck silence, staring at the small body on the bed as if willing it to come alive again. But Taeyong was living in a world in between: he cried steadily, a bodily reaction in which his mind was not complicit. But he also bustled around the home, kept his hands busy. He boiled barley tea sweetened with honey, placed them in the hands of his grief stricken friends where it would eventually cool undrunk. He put a very haggard and distraught Donghyuk to bed, treated Hansol’s injuries. Then the hardest task: with meticulous care, he washed the rest of the blood off Jaemin’s head, dressed it in fresh gauze. Then he changed out his stained and ragged robes for a pristine set of clothes. He looked so lovely and peaceful, he may have been sleeping; a ghost of a smile was playing at the sides of his lips. What had he been thinking of in the last few moments before his body finally gave out? What plane of existence was he on now?

            “Heaven.” Johnny said, stroking the wispy bangs off of Jaemin’s cold forehead. Johnny hadn’t slept for a solid 72 hours. His eyes were livid with dark shadows, but he refused to sleep. He couldn’t. The grief wouldn’t let him alone. “If anywhere there is a heaven, he is surely… he is…”

            He couldn’t speak anymore.

            “He was such a good kid. The very best.” Doyoung said, the disbelief of having to use the past tense in reference to his young friend washing over him in waves. He was. He was. And now, he is dead.

Doyoung was kneeling beside the bed. Had been for the past few hours. His legs were numb, felt like they would never unbuckle themselves. In his mind was an endless reel of memories: their trip to Thailand, Jaemin’s smile as bright as vast day, how very hard he tried to be strong when the seal first broke and their city was suddenly awash in blood. There had even been a time of particular hunger when he had nearly given himself to the head Reverend in order to bring home more rations. He couldn’t stand to watch his friends go hungry and do nothing about it. He’d been a boy of that sort of fortitude. And they’d failed him. They’d let him die.

Taeyong watched Johnny, Taeil and Doyoung bend over the body in grief and prayer, and he couldn’t even imagine what they were feeling. They had lived with Jaemin for the past year, had struggled a struggle much different from his own outside the sector. There was a new brotherhood there of which he was not a part, of which he would never try to encroach. What did he know of pure-hearted fortitude? In desperation, he’d cheated. He’d called on a demon for help, and it was still all too late. Jaemin was dead, and Mark still far from his reach.

Blindly, Taeyong stumbled towards the front door, suddenly desperate for air that wasn’t absolutely dense with sorrow. The night was bitingly cold, hit his face like an open hand. It was strange to look up into the sky and see no moon there. For a while, Taeyong was sure he’d grown to hate the moon; but now that it had been blotted out, he missed it desperately. Without it, the only light was from the glow of fire coming from the Holy Sector. A strange silence was suspended all around their city. Everyone, even the proud cultists had locked themselves away in their houses. Word of Lucifer’s coming had spread like wildfire. All of the possessed had been raving in the streets as if their rapture had come, but there were none roaming around their alleys anymore. Perhaps they were drawn towards the holy sector, beckoned towards their morning star. Something terrible was coming. Everyone knew it, even the animals. Not a solitary rat scuttled the cobblestone. Even Ose was quiet in his head, for once not taunting him or goading him on.

Taeyong was walking blindly, palming the wall where he and his friends had taken turns for the past year refreshing the blood of the pentagrams. He walked until he heard the distinct sound of labored breathing, an obvious attempt to sob in silence. Even before turning the corner and seeing who it was, Taeyong already knew it was Jeno. The younger was sitting propped against the wall, his hands balled to fists on the ground. His face was tear streaked and reddened, more haggard that Taeyong could ever have dreamed. When had Jeno run outside of the house? How long had he been crying outside alone with no one noticing his absence?

Taeyong knelt softly by his side, using the cuff of his sleeve to dab Jeno’s cheek.

“It isn’t safe outside Jeno, you shouldn’t be out here alone.” He said gently, his voice taking the cadence of a father. But Jeno was hardly reacting, his eyes glazed and staring blindly into the distance; catatonic in his grief.

Taeyong looked down at Jeno’s balled fists, the way they shook, the way a steady weeping of blood escaped from between his fingers. Reverently, Taeyong took a fist in his hand, gently unfurled the fingers so the palms were laid bare. In his sorrow, Jeno had closed his fists around handfuls of rock and gravel, they cut ravines into his palms, bloodied them; but he didn’t seem to notice the pain. His throat full of thorn, Taeyong plucked the jagged rocks from the younger’s palms, whispered empty words of comfort until speech itself became meaningless and drowned in the roar of the distant flames.

~

            Mark was lost. A tired, embryonic thing nestled away in a crevice of his mind. Lucifer was all there was. Was all there had ever been. All around, he could only see his memories, that same lush garden, verdant with fern and flower. A lazy river threaded its way through, and in the middle of it all, a great deciduous tree overladen with apples the shade of a sun-struck morning.

            A woman’s voice: _From the fruit of the trees of the garden we may eat; but from the fruit of the tree which is in the middle of the garden, God has said, ‘You shall not eat from it or touch it, or you will die._

_**You surely will not die! For God knows that in the day you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.**_

He watched Eve eat the apple, and her eyes grew dark with realization. In his heart, he felt a wild joy for he had given her wisdom and free will to rebel against her god who had banished him from heaven. He had given god’s favorite creation the choice to follow or refuse him. Who had more right to be God now? Surely Lucifer was more worthy. Surely he who would give his subjects wisdom despite horror, free will despite heart ache was the more fair and partial lord. He would not punish his subjects for pride or ambition, for he was fair. Worthier to be God than God. He could be adored. Loved. He had given man the most tremendous gift of them all: knowledge.

            _Enough._ Mark thought, feeling himself growing smaller and smaller in his own body. Soon, he would be hardly there. Barely a speck. _I’m tired. I’ve had enough._

            When the clerics finally came to the cell to retrieve him, they found him sitting propped against the wall, his head resting leisurely against his knee. Despite the holy wards and the devil’s traps that must no doubt be weighing on him, hurting him, his face was a water-worn stone of indifference; cold and dangerous. It was clear to them immediately that the boy Mark had receded, perhaps even disappeared. It was only his body, but what looked out from behind his eyes was all Lucifer.

            “Well.” He said in a voice that still had the same youthful husk, but none of the sweetness. He was smiling, his one red eye glinting like a secret. “What will you have me do today, dear enslavers?”

            One of the clerics raised up a great iron emblazoned with a devil’s trap across its blunt face.

            “Light this up.”

            Lucifer placed his palm against the branding iron until the metal glowed red with blistering heat. The clerics wasted no time. They pressed the branding iron hard against Lucifer’s chest until the Devil’s Trap was burned directly onto his flesh. Then again onto the skin of his back. The demon made not even the smallest of whimpers. If he felt any pain at all, he didn’t show it. But the traps placed directly on his skin was no doubt binding him tighter, compelling him to obey.

            “Stand.” The clerics said. The burned Devil’s trap on Lucifer’s chest briefly glowed white, and he was getting on his feet, his one futile wing throwing his balance off center. Distantly, Lucifer thought back longingly to the time millennia ago when he’d had two, glorious wings; whole and unburned. Back when he’d once been the most highly prized of the seraphim. But that time had been all work and no play, just playing messenger between god and man. What a waste of such unbridled power. And at least he was now entertained. At least life away from paradise was never, ever boring. The air filling with the smoke of singed skin. Yes, even this was fun. A mere prelude to what was to come.

            **Entertain me, young master.** Lucifer said in his mind to Mark who was not listening, was curling tighter and tighter around himself, willing his world to go silent. **Show me the highs and lows of a human life. Show me why man so desperately try to live forever.**

“We’re marching on the outside sector tonight. God willing, we will absorb them into the church, execute all their cultists and leaders and anyone else who dares to refuse us, you will burn.”

           


	19. Day 428

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is definitely drawing to a close soon! Within the next five chapters, most likely. I'm super excited, as much as I love writing this world, I'm looking forward to the prospect of starting a whole new story. I also wanted to give a heads up for some sexual content in this chapter. Nothing graphic by any means, but if that bothers anyone, consider yourself warned :p I hope everyone has been well! xoxo

~~

Day 428

~~

       They built the pyre with their own hands. Those who were still able bodied, who could bear to swing an axe without their knees quivering from grief chopped down the poplar tree, cut it down to kindling. All around them, the killing trees quivered in the wind, their branches heavy with decomposed goat bodies. With no more wild-cats to feast on them, they had fallen to maggot and rot, but for once, the stench didn’t bother anyone.

       Taeyong buried his mind in the physical labor, the breaking and stacking of the wood pieces. Hansol, Johnny, Yuta and Jaehyun were beside him. Hansol, Johnny and Jaehyun worked quietly, their faces livid with ghosts, but Yuta was inconsolable, barely able to aim the axe.

       “Let me.” Hansol said gently, prying the axe out of his quivering fingertips. He nudged Yuta away, towards the direction of Ten who received him with open arms.

       It didn’t take very long until the wood was stacked and ready. Not bothering to wipe the sweat from his brow, Johnny walked towards the figure bundled completely from head to toe in white cloth: a little cloth cocoon that held their Jaemin inside. Solemnly, he bent, picked him up and felt a spear of sadness at how very light he was, barely a whisper in his arms. As he turned towards the pyre, the boys parted for him like a small red sea, bowing their heads in sadness and respect. To most of them, this didn’t feel real. Despite the horrors, despite all the death they had seen in the past year and a half, they still were not prepared for funerals. Not for one they loved so dearly.

       Hardly able to see past the tears that threatened to fall, Johnny placed the white bundle on the gasoline drenched wood. This was really happening. There would soon be no more body to hold. This would make it real.

       Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a book of matches. He plucked one out, struck it until it began to glow with fire. He held it up in his hand until the fire ate the wood, singeing his fingertips, but he could not bring himself to let go. He could not bring himself to burn the body. He imagined Jaemin underneath all of the cotton bindings. He probably looked like he was sleeping, as lovely as he had been when still alive; and the thought of reducing all of his years, all of his joys and sorrows into ash made Johnny want to scream. It made him want to fall to his knees and tear at his hair.

       Quivering now, he ignited another match. Willed himself to let it drop onto the gasoline soaked wood, but it was useless. It burned and burned until it flickered off, useless in his hand.

 _Do it. Fucking do it. For Jaeminie._  Johnny ordered himself. In his mind was a reel of memories from when the seal to the underworld first broke. Before the church had completely come to power, when their sector was still rife with demons, possession and violence, they used to play morbid games of would you rather. Johnny, Jaemin, Jeno, Donghyuk, Kun, Doyoung and Taeil would all sit on the floor in a wide circle, passing a bottle of bootleg liquor around, discussing death and all its particulars.

       Kun had said he’d rather go via poison. Doyoung would rather get shot.

 _I agree with Doyoung-hyung. Getting shot would be best. Quick and easy. I don’t want to suffer for long. I’d want to go quickly._ Jaemin had said, his cheeks reddened from the alcohol. The memory anguished Johnny, because that was not how Jaemin had died. It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t easy.

       Another match burning down to a splinter in his hand.

       Another memory blinding him.

 _What would you guys prefer to happen to your bodies. You know, if you did die._ Taeil had asked, ever the realist.

 _I’d want to be given to the water._ Kun had said. _Find a lake or a river, tie stones to my ankles and let me sink._

       They all drank some more, and Jaemin went next.

_I want to be returned to the earth. But I’m afraid of a ghost trying to reanimate my body. So if something happens, I would rather be cremated._

       As abruptly as the memory came, it was gone. Jaemin wasn’t sitting crosslegged in front of him anymore, cringing over terrible liquor. It was just Johnny standing in front of a stack of wood with a swathed bundle of cloth lying on top of it. It was just him alone with a match in his hand. Jaemin had wanted this. He had requested it in what felt like a million years ago. But back then, Johnny thought they were talking about hypotheticals. A mere dark game. He never imagined that it would eventually become reality, that he would have to take him up on his request. And Jaemin was only seventeen, he was only…

        Taeyong watched Johnny’s tall form bend like a brittle tree in a storm. He was shaking, and he immediately knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. He began to inch forward, prepared to pull his anguished hyung back and take over the grim job, but to his utter shock, someone else was striding forward. Everyone stared wide eyed as Jeno walked forward, despite everything, holding his head high. He grasped Johnny’s hand, gently pried the matchbook away and turned towards the body. Taeyong walked forward to stand behind him, placing a bracing hand on either shoulder. He felt the younger shaking like a leaf.

        “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Taeyong said softly.

       “Yes I do. He was my best friend.”

       With conviction, Jeno struck the match, held it in the air for a few painful moments, and then finally threw it on the wood. The fire caught immediately, eating at the gasoline steadily until it finally roared to full life. Jeno sobbed as Taeyong pulled him back, away from the blaze that ate at everything: the wood, the little cloth bundle that was their friend. It was over cruelly quick. In the end, there was only ash. Taeyong watched it rise into the moonless sky, the smoke propelling it hurriedly upwards as if eager to escape this earth.

       Back at home, everyone returned to their rooms, their footsteps heavy with unaccustomed grief. No one really slept, they talked and held each other throughout the night. Taeyong collapsed into a heap on his bed, feeling as though at this point, death might be a blessing. He fantasized about that nothingness that stretched into eternity, the bodiless and mindless ether in which there was nothing to mourn and nothing more to fear. He was hungry for it. He was hovering on the precipice of unconsciousness when he felt the bed divot a little underneath a new weight. Taeyong opened his golden eyes and realized with a start that Jaehyun was hovering over him, his dark eyes haunted and desperate; so beyond the realm of sorrow the emotion no longer had a name.

       “Jae… what—

       “I could never hate you.” Jaehyun said, his voice raw with having spent the day crying at the funeral.

       “Jaehyunnie, what are you talking about?” Taeyong asked, disoriented and bewildered.

      “Before… after you summoned Ose, you gave me permission to hate you if I must.” Jaehyun swallowed hard, his eyes flooded with unshed tears.

       Taeyong remembered. He remembered almost forcing himself on Jaehyun with Ose’s urging. The very well deserved anger, how he had begged Jaehyun to set his fury aside and cooperate with him to save Mark. How he said Jaehyun could hate him after everything had been resolved.

       Jaehyun’s hand was cupping Taeyong’s cheek, tentative but tenderly.

      “Hyung, I just need you to know that I could never hate you”

       Taeyong felt his heart cleaving in two at this forgiveness because deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve this unbridled goodness after all that he’d done, but he caved underneath Jaehyun’s gaze. In this desolation, he wanted nothing more than to comfort and be comforted. He wanted nothing more than love, and somehow he knew that Jaehyun was feeling the same.

      “We could all die any moment.” Jaehyun said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “If something were to happen, I just needed you to know this.”

      “Jaehyun-ah, nothing is going to happen.” Taeyong said, already faltering because it was a blatant lie.

      “Can you promise me tomorrow?” Jaehyun asked. Taeyong couldn’t respond. Any further reassurance would be a lie.

       Understanding his silence, Jaehyun bent and caught Taeyong’s lips gently with his own. He stiffened momentarily in surprise, but yielded quickly, the familiar taste of Jaehyun opening like autumn in his mouth. Just a week ago, Taeyong’s heart would be singing to be holding Jaehyun again. He’d missed him: his proximity, his trust, his taste. But this was different, there was desperation in this kiss. A wild hunger to be distracted and comforted. This was a desire fueled not by lust, but by grief: the body’s attempt to cope with what the mind could not.  Taeyong shifted so that the younger was suddenly below him, and he looked so devastated and beautiful. But in his mind, Taeyong couldn’t help but remember the last time they had been in this position. How his mind had been seized by Ose, how his hands wandered without permission, despite Jaehyun’s desperate pleas to stop. He remembered how he left a necklace of teeth-marks and bruises along his throat. Taeyong couldn’t let that trespass happen again. He began to move away, but Jaehyun was reaching out, pulling him back in, and Taeyong was powerless to refuse.

        “Tell me to stop, and I will.” He breathed before taking the lobe of Jaehyun’s ear between his teeth. Deliberate and slow, they undressed, plotted maps on each other’s skin with gentle kisses.

       “I love you.” Taeyong said like a prayer as they rocked gently against one another, “I love you. I love you. Please don’t leave me.”

       In the perfect darkness, they took their time. Meticulously bringing the other closer to the edge, pretending that danger was not a presence that hovered around them constantly. Their hands tangled in the sheets, their tongues endeavored to blot out the memory of the day: an impossible task. But eventually, Jaehyun’s back was arching off the sheets, his body seizing as he spilled into Taeyong’s hand, and the older followed soon after. For a while, they just panted against one another’s skin, willing the reality of their circumstances to skirt the mind for just a little longer.

       Dazed, Taeyong cupped Jaehyun’s face, kissed him gently and was surprised to taste the salt on his lips, on either of his cheeks. He was crying. Taeyong wrapped him in his arms where he shook like a candle flame. Perhaps he’d been crying all along.

 

~

            The cultist was bleeding at his feet, his black robes torn and frayed. Reverend Yoo was giddy with joy as he watched the demon worshipper writhing at his feet. He raised his weapon, a random jagged metal pipe he found nearby and struck the cultist across the back. He cried out, curling around himself in fetal position. How weak. The Reverend couldn’t help but compare him to the boy Mark in his mind. It had taken him a solid week of torment to finally break. And this weak willed cultist was already in shambles after a few blows.

            “You are a worshiper of the demon Orobas, correct? I can tell by the sigil on your robes.” The Reverend said, grabbing the cultist’s face so he was forced to look upon him. He was young, no older than thirty. There was unspeakable terror in his eyes, and confusion. Of course he was confused. Suddenly a legion of clerics had marched out of the Holy Sector. Nobody ever left the Holy Sector, let alone a whole small army.

            “What do you want from me?” The cultist asked, trying to keep his voice steady. But he was failing. His eyes kept darting this way and that, from the Reverend’s bloated and red face, to the gigantic crosses the clerics were holding in their gloved hands.

            “Just some simple information, really. Where is the place of worship for the cult of the demon Orobas? As a member, surely, you must know.” The reverend said, his voice sickly saccharine.

            The cultist’s mind was racing, unable to comprehend the strangeness of his situation. Was the holy sector meaning to invade?

            “And what do you plan to do with that information?” He asked, trying to steel his resolve.

            “We mean only to liberate you from the control of the demon. We will bring your brethren to their knees before the judgement of God, our savior.”

            The cultist felt himself oddly swayed. He’d joined the cults for safety when the seal first broke. At the time, he couldn’t really fathom any other way to survive. He’d been alone. He’d been so poor he couldn’t afford to pay tithe, let alone feed himself. Being a cult member had granted him relative safety and provisions. But it also forced him into a life of violence and a never-ending turf war with the opposing cult of the demon Baal. Perhaps things would be better under the protection of the church. Maybe the Holy Sector was coming not as invaders, but as liberators.

            “And you’ll free me if I tell you where they are?” He asked, for the first time, slightly hopeful.

            The reverend just nodded, so the cultist swallowed hard before continuing to speak.

            “We worship in the old defunct powerplant about six miles south of here.” He said, whetting his lips.

            The Reverend looked towards his legion of clerics. “Root them out.” He said before sidestepping the cultist.

            “You aren’t going to take me to safety?” The young man said, pulling off his cultist robes. “I told you what you wanted to know.”

            A strange figure was unfurling from the line of clerics. The cultist’s eyes grew huge as it drew closer. It was a lovely young man, still in his teens, but half of him was demonic: red eyes, a horn, a single, charred wing.

            The reverend was walking swiftly away, muttering wildly under his breath, his eyes alight with madness. He would bring judgement on all those that were unclean.

            “The only freedom for filth that have lead a life of sin is through hellfire. There shall be no fair judgement for that which have turned away from their lord in lieu of another.”

            Lucifer reached out, compelled by the devil’s trap and the reverend’s order. He placed his palm on the cultist’s forehead. And suddenly he was burning from within, the very marrow of his bones running like magma. He opened his mouth to beg for mercy but his vocal chords had already been singed away. His eyes sizzled like pan grease in their sockets. 


	20. Day 430

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update. It's slowly approaching finals time, and classes have got me like T_T. It's the countdown to the end ya'll. This chapter is lowkey,but the next few chapters will be nothing short of insanity/ very freaking violent. Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and comment <3

~~

Day 430

~~

            The air was heavy with the scent of fire: scorched rock and skin. To Reverend Yoo, no rose in the world could smell as sweet. This was the fire of purification and judgement. This was holy work.

            He watched serenely as his clerics forced their way into the defunct power-plant where the cult of Orobas held their worship, the sound of gunfire ricocheting dully from inside. They took a handful of prisoners, including the cult leader: a proud looking middle aged man who may have been inconspicuous if not for a pair of horse hooves where his feet should have been. A monster. A demon’s plaything that deserved to burn at the stake.

            The Reverend bent close to the leader’s face, observing his gaunt angles, the horrid scar that ran the length of his face from brow to jugular. Distantly, he wondered what this man’s life had been before the seal to the underworld had broken. His mind drew a blank. To the Reverend, it almost seemed as if this realty was all that there ever was. Only crosses and demons and salt. Any vague suggestions of a life before felt like a dream. He had always been a man of God. And this cultist who had invoked a demon was always destined for hell.

            “Any words of repentance?” The Reverend asked, gathering a fistful of the man’s hair in his hand.

            “To your god? He’s turned away.” His voice held not even a trace of a quiver, the cult leader was as horse-hearted and courageous as the Goetic demon he had invoked.

            The Reverend raised his brow at the man’s audacity. How could he speak so low of the lord in the presence of holy men, these crosses, these sigils that had subjugated Lucifer himself?

            “Very well. Light them up.” The Reverend called over his shoulder. The clerics closed the doors of the defunct powerplant, locking a few dozen cultists inside in the darkness. And suddenly an inferno was blossoming inside, torching the trapped bodies in black fire that burned all that it touched, but was slow to kill. Fire that would only let the person expire after skin and flesh had burned away and the organs completely liquefied, fire that would make sure that what it burned felt every moment in horrible lucidity; Lucifer’s fire. Even through the sealed iron doors, the sound of human screaming crackled like slow lightning in the air. 

            “There are women and children in there!” The cult leader shouted over the din of noise, but no one was listening. The fire was spreading, catching on the left-over industrial chemicals of the powerplant until the whole building plumed, a towering spire of flames. It blazed, an unquenchable orb of light and heat. It was as close to a sun as the city had come in over a year, everything illuminated, everything bright like a summer. The Reverend closed his eyes in bliss as the embers drifted past his face. Yes, this was almost affirmation of the righteousness of his mission. His inquisition would bring the sun back to their city. When God saw good work being done, saw evil being eradicated by his hand, he would come, bring on the rapture, cleanse this evil city by flood and fire. The Reverend knew he was chosen to do this. It was truer than salt.

            He opened his eyes, glanced over towards Lucifer, the morning star, who was standing like a beacon against the fire, his black hair haloed above his pale face. His expression was immutable, his eyes staring into the inferno he’d started with his own hands. The Devil’s traps that had been burned onto his chest and back were glowing a blinding white light, an indication of his complete imprisonment. He was beautiful in the way all purely evil things are beautiful, all that unbridled darkness. Evil at its very core, was seductive. The Revered knew that all too well. His eyes slowly shifted until they met with his: black on blood red. And the demon smiled, unaffected, casual as if he were not a prisoner in young Mark’s body. As if he were here by choice.

            “What’s so amusing, devil?” Reverend Yoo asked. After fifteen solid minutes, the screaming was finally dying down. In his mind’s eye, he could practically see the wizened, mummy-like figures below his feet, opening and closing their charred mouths until they finally, finally fell to ash. It filled his heart with a strange kind of love, because he had saved them, judged and purified them by fire. They were closer to holy now than before when they sat in the pews singing praise to a patron demon. He loved them. He burned them because he was merciful.

            “I can smell hell all over you, Reverend.” Lucifer purred, regarded him like cat would observe a rat, a timeless wisdom coiled behind his unnervingly youthful face. “You were born for it. You brought me here to harness my fire, but eventually it will claim even you.”

            “Then I will ascend into heaven.” The Reverend said. He wasn’t afraid of death. Once all was said and done, he would welcome it knowing paradise would receive him.

             “I can smell hell all over you.” Lucifer repeated, knowing laughter wracking his thin form. “You reek of grave soil and rot. You’re halfway there already.”

            Reverend Yoo sneered and turned away. He didn’t care what a demon, an angel fallen from grace had to say. He walked back towards the cult leader who was finally shaken, his eyes wide as he stared towards the sealed doors of the power plant where the majority of his followers had horrifically burned to death.

            “And now for you, dear cult leader, dear heretic.” Reverend Yoo said, cupping his singed cheek almost gently with one hand. “All who attempt to construe a personal view of God which conflicts with the dogma of the church must be burned without pity.”

 

~

            “They’re burning people in the town square.” Yuta shouted, practically knocking the door off its hinges in his haste. Hansol followed close behind, his already large eyes even larger in horror. The two of them had gone to the black market to stock up on weapons. Hansol put down his satchel of guns and knives on the kitchen table as everyone gathered around them. Taeyong felt Jaehyun hovering behind him. Two nights ago, they had fallen asleep tangled together like twin vines through a hurricane, but they hadn’t acknowledged that moment of lapse since. There was no more time for tenderness, a storm was coming. In fact, it had already come.

            “Burning….” Ten muttered in horror. “Who is—

            “The church.” Yuta answered without waiting for Ten to finish. Nobody was really surprised. They had been expecting this, but just not quite so soon.

            “It’s a veritable Salem’s witch trial out there.” Hansol said, passing the weapons out. He handed knives even to those like Winwin and Kun who had never fought in their lives. They fumbled with the weapons, holding them with aversion as if they were cradling human bones. But it couldn’t be helped, they had to be armed. There was no telling what the next few hours would bring. “They’ve tied a bunch of cultists and leaders to the stake and they’re burning them. It’s awful. Fucking awful. They burn and burn, but take forever to die.”

            His hands were shaking. He cursed, taking a few deep breaths to steady his panic. But he just couldn’t quell the fear. Part of him just couldn’t believe it. The church was invading their sector, killing people for heresy in the town square. How was this the life they were living? Just two years ago, that town square had been a marketplace where, come night, the air was fogged with heat from street hawkers that sold steamed buns, ladled bubbling soup into paper cups, pressed doughnuts filled with nuts and brown sugar onto oil slicked gridles. It was a place where lovers went to shop, where friends wasted hours jackaling the streets after too much soju, where students would throw coins in the river and pray for a happy future that would never come. That was all obliterated now, the old fluorescent edifices and store windows fallen to disrepair, and now people were burning there. Hansol shivered at the mere memory. No civilians had stepped in to protest the executions. Some had even cheered as the kindling was set aflame. Hansol knew it was only natural. The cults were not beloved in the outer  sector. They were violent and dangerous and hated. Perhaps people thought the church was coming to help them. They didn’t know what Hansol and the others knew; they didn’t know that the church was now just as power-hungry and insidious as any cult.

            “Did you see Mark?” Jaehyun asked, but Yuta shook his head.

            “No. There were just too many spectators, we couldn’t see over them. But the fire was Lucifer’s for sure, it was so otherworldly. Which means Mark is there too.”

            A violent roar was taking up in Taeyong’s ears. In his mind all he could see was Mark’s broken fingers, the wing and horn that had sprouted without permission from his body. His fingers still remembered the heat of the ashes as they released Jaemin to the wind. And everything, from Mark’s forced summoning of Lucifer, to Jaemin’s death, was the fault of the Holy Sector. And he was done running from them.

            Taeyong hurriedly pushed past the others, sorting through the weapons Hansol had  brought until he found a single diamond-sharp machete. This would do. He fastened it to his belt before heading towards the door, a single-minded wild determination taking over him. Ose was awake in his mind, his energy buzzing with excitement at the potential violence of the day, a wicked sort of entertainment. It was as if he’d been drowsing during the grief heavy days following the death, but now he was ready for blood.

            “Wait, you’re going back there? They’re going to recognize you for sure! We should wait for the demon Paimon to recuperate.” Yuta said, grabbing Taeyong’s wrist. Taeyong jerked his arm away, not breaking his stride.

            “I can’t wait anymore. I’m getting Mark back.” He said, his voice cold and dead-pan. He was past the point of fear, all he felt was anger. It was blinding him, maddening him.

            Jaehyun was also buckling blades to his hips, his pale hands quivering a little with anxiety. He looked so unhealthy, his already pale skin almost translucent in the candle-light. He looked as though a single solid blow to the head would finish him. But out of respect, Taeyong wouldn’t stop him. If Jaehyun was choosing to come with him, he had to respect that decision.

            He was halfway out the door when he noticed Jeno fumbling with a knife, a steely look on his face. Taeyong reached out, and perhaps it was Ose’s impatience to move, but he pushed Jeno back more firmly than he’d intended. He stumbled backwards, nearly losing his footing. When he straightened up, his eyes were alight with disbelief. His hyung had never manhandled him like that before.

            “What the f—

            “No you don’t.” Taeyong said before Jeno could finish, a little surprised at the flare of temper he saw on Jeno’s face. The boy was always as even as stone, even in his most petulant early teen years. But today there was a gleam of something ice cold in his eyes.

            “What do you mean, no I don’t?”

            “You’re not coming with us.” Taeyong glanced over the younger’s shoulders. “You stay home with Donghyuk, Taeil hyung and the others.”

            “You can’t honestly expect me to… Mark is out there!” He shouted, his voice slowly rising. He was beginning to stumble over his words, as he often did when upset. He often cried too, when he was angry. But today he refused to. He refused.

            “I don’t care. It’s not safe, and you’re a minor.” Taeyong said, even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was ridiculous. The concept of safety was all but a relic, as was the idea of a minor being somehow sacred. Everyone suffered equally now, in this new awful world. But a part of him desperately wanted to hold onto some fragment of the past. If not, he would surely go mad. As if he weren’t already halfway to insanity already with Ose’s demonic urges.

            Jeno just laughed derisively, a cold, poisonous tone to his voice that Taeyong had never heard, never wanted to hear again.

            “Oh so I’m a precious minor, so I should be protected, is that it? I’m just a stupid seventeen year old that hasn’t seen enough of the world so I’m not worthy of responsibility, is that what you think?”

            Ten walked forward, gently shushing Jeno, trying to pull him into a silencing embrace, but the younger deflected him, continuing with a barely concealed quiver in his voice.

            “As if I didn’t spend the last year and a half watching my friends starve, as if we didn’t live in fear every fucking hour of our lives. As if minors weren’t letting gross old men fuck them in exchange for a few extra ration tickets. And you know what, this might be new news to you in the outer sector, but in the Holy sector we witnessed executions on a weekly basis. We watched innocent people burn, or get their throats cut out, or get acid dumped on their faces. We watched whole families hung together after being accused of heresy.  And you know what they did after? They made us pray and thank god. So yeah, I’m just a fucking minor, what do I know?”

            His whole body was shaking like a leaf now, but not in fear, in fury. Taeyong had simultaneous urges to embrace him and silence him; two opposing feelings that left him dumb and blank.

            **Strike the petulant child and be done with it. Just strike him and put him in his place.** Ose said, and despite how Taeyong tried to silence the voice in his head, he felt a foreign frustration flooding his limbs. Jeno just didn’t understand. Why couldn’t he see that he was trying to keep him safe?

            “And what about Jaemin-ie?” Jeno said, his voice finally breaking, the final crack on a spider-webbed sheet of glass. “He was only seventeen when he died. Where were you then, huh Taeyong-hyung? Where was your ‘protection’ when they locked up my best friend and left him to slowly die?”

            Taeyong felt his words like a knife to the heart.

            “I don’t care what you say, I’m going.” Jeno said, trying to push past Taeyong with his shoulders. The next moments seemed to liquidate in Taeyong’s mind. His hand reached out, grasping Jeno’s thin wrist and swiveling him around. Jeno’s mouth was moving, no doubt rebuking him, but Taeyong couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears. In his head was an all-consuming amalgamation of his own voice, and Ose’s; the tone and timbre oscillating like a broken pull-string doll.

            _I’m doing this because I love you, why don’t you.._ **Just strike the boy and be done with it. Wrap your hands around his throat and..** _I tried to save him. I really fucking tried. But the infection as too far gone and…_ **throw him against the wall. ..** _Shut up, shut up!_ **He’ll never raise his voice to you agai…** _I am losing my mind, I am—_

Jeno’s eyes widened as Taeyong’s hands wrapped firmly around his throat, cutting off the air like a noose.  When his eyes met his hyungs, he saw nothing he recognized there; just twin golden orbs with a voracious monster trapped within. He barely felt the pain as his body was lifted off the floor and slammed against the door frame that rattled weakly, and just as suddenly, he was gasping on the ground; scrabbling at his neck. He was coughing and coughing, and all around were the voices of his hyungs as they yelped and fell at his side, grabbing at him.

            “Are you okay?” Doyoung asked, propping Jeno up, gently touching the necklace of purple bruising already rising on his pale skin.

            Furiously, he looked up towards Taeyong for answers, and saw a wild look of confusion on his face, as if he had blacked out for the last few minutes and had just returned to his body. He kept looking from his own hands, to Jeno, then back again with something akin to horror. And suddenly he was turning, sprinting out the door into the night.

            For moments, no one could speak; too stunned to even breathe. Jaehyun was the first to come out of it. Time couldn’t stop, not even for this.

            “I’m sorry hyung. Take care of him. We’ll be back. With Mark this time. I promise.” He said before following Taeyong out the door, towards the great spires of execution fire coming from the town square, followed by Hansol, Yuta, Johnny and Ten.

            Jeno was shaking in his lap, and Doyoung did his best to comfort him, wrapped his arms around him and held him close to his chest. He did this despite the rising anxiety in his own chest.

            “Close the door.” Taeil said, as the oldest, taking on the role of caretaker, and Winwin ran forward to close and lock it. Kun was pulling down all of the grates on the windows, nervously fidgeting with the foreign weight of the knives at his hip.

            “It’ll be okay.” Taeil said to Donghyuk whose eyes were darting around at every ghost of a noise. If they had a future, if somehow they grew to old age, Taeil was sure he would develop ptsd. “It’ll be okay.”

            But there was no conviction in his words. How could there be, when a deadly true voice in his head was telling him, _the night is long, and not all of you can live to see it end._


	21. Day 430- The Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a race to the end now, though this story keeps wanting to give up on itself. Thank you for reading, as always <3

~

Day 430

~

            The demon Paimon rose from the sheets like a reaper. In the reflection cast in the bedside mirror, he saw his own beautiful face, haggard from the effort of existing in this world. Unlike the lowly demons and ghosts that rejoiced at the chance to cause havoc on the human plane, Paimon was tired. He longed to return to the embers of the world he had watched over as general for centuries on end. He hungered for that timeless ether of the underworld, and his throne at the right hand of Lucifer; his king. His Morningstar. He would return there eventually, but not without Lucifer. He would do what he must to get him back, even if it meant calling upon the fallen, the most vicious of angels that had fallen from grace. Even if he had to kill the host boy to release Lucifer from the invocation contract, he would do so.

            Paimon threw the sheets aside, looking down at his hands. The stigmata were gone, it was just his sleek white skin, beautiful and whole. Finally, the wounds from the holy wards had faded, and he was ready to summon his  brethren. In fact, he could already hear them calling from just beyond the veil, the small wrinkle in the universe in which the lord had banished them to after the war in heaven. Paimon stepped lightly to the nearby mirror. It would have to do as a make-shift portal. The demon pressed his palm against it until it spider-webbed with frost, and then suddenly, he could see their undulating bodies, their grotesquely lovely faces peering out through the veil between the worlds. The fallen. The once angels that rebelled and fell from grace. Oh, they were angry and wronged. They were hungry for vindication. Paimon pressed his ear against the mirror’s icy face, listening to the clamoring echo of voices that swelled and thrashed from the other side.

            _…because we refused to bow our heads to mankind… because the hubris of God could overflow the world’s oceans… Because the Morningstar could not save us… the lord cut our wings from their sockets, burned us… He betrayed us…his children…_

Paimon smiled, backing away. The fabric of the universe was beginning to rend, a black chasm was opening through the mirror. A portal. A passage to let into this world what should never be let in. The voices grew louder.

            … _and all because of them, we were banished… human filth… … We didn’t deserve to fall…we don’t deserve to be fallen… we didn’t deserve to be ousted from the gates of heaven…_

A terrible cold was entering the room, every hanging ornament suddenly wrapped in a chrysalis of frost. The fallen were such fools, such mindless, searching fury. Paimon had no affection for such blind emotion, but that single-minded thirst for vindication made them powerful; perhaps the only force in any world that could break through Lucifer’s defenses for long enough to liberate him from his host body.

            “You are free.” Paimon said in his voice of fine silk, and suddenly the mirror shattered, spraying silver all over the room as  the fallen entered the world in a flurry of blood and charred feathers.

 

~

           

 

            Even from a distance, they could smell the wicked stench of burning skin and hair; the heady reek of bubbling fat that was so distinctly human. The air was thick with it, and oh god, Ten wanted to hurl. He wanted to curl up and cry at the horrible truth that they were running towards an execution in which Mark was being forced to take part of. It was unfathomable.

            Ten glanced at his friends who were running by his side. They were all worse for wear, haggard and panting from sprinting. And then there was Taeyong, dogged determination on his face, and not even breaking a sweat. Of course not. He was not entirely human anymore. He was part demon, and it made him strong. Made him frightening. Ten didn’t want to admit it, but ever since Ose’s summoning, something dark had crept into his friend. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, Taeyong wasn’t the same gentle hyung he had always known. He was wilder, less predictable. He hated to admit it to himself, but Ten was scared of him now. He’d been scared for a long time.

            Even now as they pounded the pavement with their feet, and the town square grew closer, a wildness was overtaking Taeyong’s golden eyes as the demon seized control. He was muttering under his breath, and it wasn’t long until the ground was suddenly and inexplicably teeming with rats the size of small dogs, the skies overhead darkening with birds. Ten choked down his panic as he felt the rodent’s greasy fur brushing past his ankles. He couldn’t hyperventilate in disgust now, but how was it possible that any good could come of such an insidious power; seizing a liege of animals and marching them towards their deaths?

            He couldn’t worry about that for long though as they finally reached the town center. It was immediate chaos. As the civilians saw the sudden wave of vermin, they scattered, their screams rending the night air like the rattle of chainsaws. But there were just too many bodies pressed up against one another as they surged to get away. They fell and trampled one another in the mad scramble, friends and lovers being forced apart by the stampeding. Ten looked up just in time to see Taeyong pointing into the direction of the clerics, and abruptly the birds were falling upon them in a flurry of beaks and feathers. They tore at the soft jelly of their eyes, raked great gashes in their cheeks until they were blind and groping. The rats crawled up onto the pyre, despite fire, despite certain death. They gnawed against the ropes binding the cultists until they could stumble free from the flames, their robes still ablaze. Ose seized control of their minds, forced them to stumble towards the clerics and wrap them in a fiery embrace that caught like kindling. Ten could hardly think, his mind wiped white from the chaos and sheer terror. At his feet, a fat rat was gnawing on a woman’s lip, but she didn’t bat it away because she was dead. Trampled, her neck twisted at an odd angle, and he was going to faint.

            His world was spinning fast when a sudden hand gripped his wrist. Johnny, his soft brown eyes blown wide with panic.

            “It’s Mark.” He said, pointing. And sure enough in the distance, there he was. Their young friend rendered demonic with his one wing and horn. He was flanked on either side by a line of armed reverends and clerics, both of his arms shackled in chains, and even from the distance, Ten could see the white light of the devil’s trap lighting his chest. His face was as unaffected as one just woken from slumber. He watched the carnage with bored eyes. Ten’s heart fell. This was not the Mark he knew. Mark used to quail even while watching horror movies. He would not be able to view such a bloody scene with such casual indifference. He was gone. There was only Lucifer.

            Hansol was the quickest and least merciful. He shot twice with deadly accuracy, two temples opening like a bloody rose. They dropped like flies as everyone ducked for cover at the spray of bullets the clerics sent their way. And then they were shooting again. Ten shot aimlessly, and he knew only from the yelps that some of his bullets hit their target. Jaehyun and Yuta were much better, their shots always reaching their mark, between the eyed or the chest. But they were still wildly, miserably outnumbered, even as the crows controlled by Ose continued to maim the cleric’s eyes. Half of the army blinded. Another quarter of them, dead. But then with a single swipe of Lucifer’s shackled hand, the birds were all bursting into flames like little hand grenades, their engulfed bodies falling in a hellish rain. Jaehyun coughed at the heavy smoke, the rancor in the air. All around them, the smoldering ember of dying things. _This is hell,_ he thought. _We’re in hell._

And the Reverend was moving closer, emboldened, the chains that shackled Lucifer clinking loosely in his hand. He could kill them all. He could send the whole town square up in an inferno, if he ordered. But where was the thrill in such an easy resolution? He would root them all out like small prey, and kill them one by one for their heresy.

            “Come out now boys, and I will be gentle.” He said, his voice unsettlingly gentle. “Kneel before me like a good animal, and I will forgive you.”

            Ten was shaking like a clipped vine. He felt Johnny place a frigid hand on his, but it did nothing to quell the fear. They had made a desperate attempt, but now had reached the end. He knew a lie when he heard one.

            “I’ll be kind. I’ll baptize you, wrap you in warm clothing, give you holy wine.”

            He refused to go out like this, shivering like a beaten animal. Taeyong stood, stepping into the glow of the flames, his chin held high. The Reverend was smiling cruelly, and beside him was Mark, his face bored and foreign. Taeyong had failed. It stabbed at him that they hadn’t saved Mark, but as he looked beyond, he realized how close they had come. They had singlehandedly taken down more than half of the clerics, their robed bodies littered the smoldering ground.

            The Reverend studied Taeyong’s face, those otherworldly gold eyes. He was just about to speak when Lucifer’s bored expression suddenly broke into wild glee, unaccustomed laughter suddenly shaking his thin frame as he turned his face towards the heavens. Taeyong followed his gaze skywards, and had just enough time to see the skeletal winged figures approaching fast from the north before the ground below him burst.

 

~

            The room was a frozen landscape. Frost had crawled up the walls, the lightbulb that swung from the ceiling was cocooned in ice, and the windows had all shattered from the fluctuating cold and heat. Jeno stepped into the room in disbelief, his feet crunching in the shattered remnants of the bedside mirror. Only cold occupied the room. Otherwise it was empty. Demon Paimon was not stretched out catatonically on the bed as he had been for the past few days. Without a trace, he was gone. Jeno was no fool, he knew Paimon must have woken. He must have called on the fallen like he said he would. There was no other way of explaining the hellish cold that made home of this room and this room alone. Perhaps now they had a chance. Perhaps the fallen would be able to subdue Lucifer for long enough to figure something out.

            Jeno walked towards the broken window, staring out into the reddened blaze coming from the town square. Everything was going up in flames, his childhood city, the bodies of the ones he loved.

            He closed his eyes against the memory. The pyre blazing, reducing his best friend to ash. And then later, Taeyong hyung wrapping a hand around his throat. Burning. Everything he thought he knew was burning, and he couldn’t bear to idly watch it happen any longer. Waiting was worse than death, and his blood was hot with the want for revenge against those who had killed Jaemin, had made a slave of Mark.

            By the time Doyoung realized Jeno was missing, by the time he thought to peer into the spare room to see there was nothing but ice there, Jeno was already halfway to the town square with a gun strapped cold against his hip. Overhead, the fallen circled with their maimed wings as he ran towards the fire with the conviction of a dying man running towards his God.


	22. Day 430- Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger >< Thank you, as always for reading <3

~

Day 430

~

            “You can’t go out there.” Taeil said, but Doyoung was already halfway towards the door, and he already knew his words were useless. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

            “Jeno is gone. I have to go after him.” Doyoung said, pushing his dark curtain of hair out of his eyes. Taeil tried to block his path to the door, feeling hopeless and impotent. He recognized the look of determination on Doyoung’s face. He wouldn’t be able to stop him, even if he begged.

            “Move, hyung. Please.” Doyoung said. “He couldn’t have gone far. I’ll just find him and drag him back. I just can’t lose another. Move.”

            Taeil felt himself growing small. He was the eldest. It was his responsibility to keep everyone safe. But what had he managed to achieve. Nothing. He looked around, saw Kun and Winwin huddled together, saw Donghyuk’s shell shocked expression at the knowledge that Jeno had taken off towards all that destruction. All of the fight left Taeil at once. He moved aside and Doyoung just smiled at him gratefully before taking off at a sprint, hoping against hope that Jeno had not gone too far, that he could reach him in time to drag him back home before he did anything too reckless.

            He left so quickly, he didn’t hear Taeil’s weak request muttered to no one and everyone: _come home._

_~_

 

            The angels converged on the town square in a flurry of charred feathers. Jaehyun had just a moment to take them in, the skeletal vestiges of their wings, their gaunt and taut faces that hinted at enormous beauty long gone. The fallen. He had just one moment to look at their wild, blue lipped laughter before one gathered an orb of light in his hand and hurled it down to earth.

            For a moment there was bright silence, his vision rendered blisteringly white. And then he was being blasted away, his feet torn from the ground as everything in the general vicinity: the glass of the abandoned storefront windows, the cobble stones, the people, ruptured under the force of the explosion. Jaehyun landed hard on his stomach, and for a moment was catatonic in shock. For a stretch, there was silence; just the sound of glass shuffling under bodies. Then slowly, the air began to fill with the sound of human wailing, a nameless, animal cry of horror. He slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, a fine layer of shattered glass and plaster falling from his hair and irritating his eyes. He’d bitten his tongue, his mouth was filled with the iron taste of blood. No matter how he tried to spit it out, it lingered.

            “Taeyong hyung?” He said, his voice broken and choked with dust. He could barely see, the air was so thick with dust, and he was sure the bright light of the explosion had damaged his corneas. “Ten? Hansol? Yuta? Johnny?”

            His grappling fingers brushed against the skin of an arm, and instinctually he pulled it closer. If it was an injured person, he wanted to help. He needed to. But no. He took a closer look. It was a severed arm, the socket, a mess of tendon and vein. The body it belonged to was nowhere in sight. He slowly looked up at the floor before him.  Bodies littered the ground, some blown to pieces, some alive and struggling on their hands and knees to get away. Jaehyun clasped a hand against his mouth, his fingers beginning to tremble despite themselves.

            Above, the fallen were circling closer and closer to earth. Those who survived the blast were getting up, searching for loved ones, scrambling madly to get away from the square. It was chaos. And they’d brought it upon them. They were the ones who saved the Demon Paimon from the Holy Sector. They were the ones that enabled him to summon the fallen. They hadn’t expected the fallen to indiscriminately attack civilians. Not like this.

            _We made a mistake._

The thought kept ringing in Jaehyun’s mind as he found his footing. Another blast at a distance sent ripples through his very bones as he pushed against the throng of people trying to exit the square. Unlike everyone else scrambling to escape, he wanted to get farther in. He needed to find them.  

            It didn’t take long for the Reverend to order Lucifer’s retribution. A pillar of fire was taking to the sky, unfurling in the form of a great, burning snake. It unhinged its flame jaws and began to strike.

 

~~

 

            Yuta could hardly think. He could hardly breathe as he saw the sky fill with dozens upon dozens of fallen angels. Some were darkly beautiful, their eyes struck with madness, their hair thick with frost from whatever hellishly cold dimension they had been locked in for millennia. But others had eroded, the flesh of their faces mostly eaten away until there was only bone there, empty sockets and an exposed, ever present smile. And there was so much fury about them. In his time, Yuta had encountered many ghosts and demons that bemoaned being locked in hell. But the fallen were different. They had once tasted the paradise of heaven and had been ousted from it. Their fury was one of retribution, revenge for what they believed to have been a grave injustice.

            Another explosion in the distance blinded him momentarily, sending more people scattering both alive and dead, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of those news reels he used to watch on television before the Underworld opened. News clips of war torn countries, jet planes dropping their deadly cargo on landscapes bomb flattened like unleavened bread. Crying children with their faces cleaved from impact, mothers running from violence with their babies strapped to their backs, buildings fallen under constant shelling, all the trees of the foreign cities going up in flames. Yuta used to watch the news with a heavy heart, and such brazen certainty that it would never happen to him. But here they were in a battle torn city rocked in explosions. It mattered little that the violence was being perpetrated by angels and demons. War was war was war, and the outcome was just the same.

            And they’d been separated from their friends. In the initial explosion, Yuta remembered seeing Jaehyun’s thin frame go flying. Ten and Johnny, he didn’t remember, but when the smoke cleared they were nowhere in sight. Only Hansol was by his side, the left side of his face bloodied by a piece of rubble gone flying, and Yuta was beginning to panic. This felt too familiar to the very first night when they had been separated from half of their friends. Much too familiar.

            “Yuta, focus.” Hansol said, grabbing him firmly by the wrist, snapping him out of his stupor. “We have to go to the fallout shelters.”

            Yuta continued scanning the scene, hoping against hope that he would see his friends, but no. There was just a massive snake of fire rising in the sky to meet the fallen, and the explosions were getting more frequent, closer. There was blood in Hansol’s eyes. Yuta wanted to reach out and dab it away, but he felt like his whole body was paralyzed, his usual clarity and cleverness suddenly dulled in shock. But Hansol was still as solid as stone, sure of what needed to be done.

            “We need to get the civilians into the fallout shelters. Anyone who tries to take shelter in their homes will die.”

            Yuta looked around him, at the multitudes of civilians that were running from the square. There were fallout shelters all around Seoul that had been built in the off chance of an attack from North Korea, but they had never been used. Many must not even be aware of their existence, and Yuta knew Hansol was right. Inadvertently, they were the source and cause of this calamity. They had to do what they could to make things right.

            “But the others…” Yuta began but was interrupted by another blast that loosened the face of a building, showering them in blocks of concrete and glass. Yuta coughed at the smoke and plumes of dust, stumbling blindly, reaching out with his hands. He heard Hansol’s voice calling his name, and then a very unfamiliar voice sobbing. As the dust began to settle, the forms began to emerge. Hansol’s familiar tall frame was running towards the dumpsters. Yuta saw her immediately, a little red faced girl, a child; nestled between the two metal dumpsters, using their bulk as shelter. Her right foot was turned in a way that was obviously broken, and her tear streaked face was bloodied from all the scrapes and cuts. It was obvious she had been separated from her family in the chaos, and she was babbling and crying unintelligibly, as if the sheer terror had rendered her incapable of speech.

            “Shh… shh, it’s okay. Come.” Hansol cooed to her, lifting the child up easily in his arms. She gripped him like a lifeline. “Yuta, to the shelters. Hurry. We’ll tell as many people as we can.”

            They took off like a wild storm away from the battlefield that may or may not still hold their friends. They ran through the streets shouting for everyone to make their way to the fallout shelters. They screamed about the location of the shelters until their voices were hoarse, and when the streets were finally empty, they broke into the houses to look for people taking shelter there. They found many: people shivering under tables or in closets, holding each-other with resignation on beds as if accepting that they would die tonight. All the while, the explosions only grew nearer, more violent.

            _Go._ They told the people they found taking shelter in regular buildings. _There are bomb shelters nearby, you can be safer._

An hour of this, and Hansol was barely able to speak. He’d screamed himself hoarse, but surely they’d saved many lives. There was not much more they could do. They were running out of time. In the sky, the snake of fire undulated against the fallen, sending a rain of embers on the roofs of the houses. Fire caught quickly, first on the wood of one roof, and then swiftly all the others. The air was bright red with blazing heat.

            “We can’t do this anymore. We need to go too.” Yuta gasped, lightheaded from the smoke. The little girl in Hansol’s arms was screaming again. They took off at a mad dash towards the fallout shelter, trying not to think of all the people left shivering in their homes as everything went up in flames: all the lives they couldn’t save. The hundreds of people reduced to ashes in a single night.

            They finally reached the bomb shelter, descending down an uncountable flight of stairs and through the heavy iron doors. The doors shut behind them with a clang, and they were met with even more chaos. The fallout shelter was brimming with people in various states of injury. The able bodied were running all around with rations and first aid kits. The injured were laid out groaning in the center of the room, and it was almost too much for Yuta to bear. Such grievous injuries. The scent of blood in the stale air was enough to make him gag.

            The people who recognized them muttered vague sentiments of gratitude as Hansol strode forward, unfurling a blanket and laying the little girl down on it.

            “Yuta, go find me a first aid kit.” He muttered, his brows furrowed and anxious.

            Yuta obeyed, turning and scouring the shelter. The faces he passed were frozen in fear, lit up sickly green in the fallout shelter lighting. How long would they have to stay in this windowless, claustrophobic place? Even from within the bomb shelters, he could hear and feel the occasional explosion from above, a slight rattling of the framework that told him the fight was long from over. This fight that their dear Mark was being forced to fight. Their peaceful, sweet Mark who had once even protested the gutting of a fish for dinner.

            _This can’t last forever._  He reminded himself as he finally found the stash of supplies. Medical kits, water canteens, mountains of canned food and MRE’s. _This won’t be forever._

Together, Yuta and Hansol did the best they could with the little girl’s broken food, putting it in a makeshift brace, feeding her a painkiller. Then they moved on to others, an endless parade of injuries: a bandage across a gouged out eye to staunch the bleeding, wrapping a severed hand in gauze, antisceptic cream swiped over a gash. And after what felt like hours of this grim work, they finally crept away into a dark corner and huddled together. They couldn’t take it anymore. The explosions were pelting the ceiling with such force now that the green tinged lights were flickering, plaster was falling from the ceiling, carpeting everyone’s hair in grey. Nobody spoke, only labored breathing filled the air as everyone succumbed one by one to catatonic fright.

            Yuta tangled with Hansol as they folded into themselves, their arms interlocked and their foreheads pressed together. The panic attack they had been trying so desperately to fight off all day finally reached up with her clawed hands and  pulled them under.

 

~

            Jeno was going to kill him. The Reverend. He was going to do it.

            The image of his smug, gaunt face was tattooed on the inside of his eyes, it drove him crazy; this man who had so completely ruined his life. He was going to take the gun strapped at the side of his hip, point it at his face, and shoot him. Just the mere thought made him giddy. He wanted to see the Reverend’s face blown off and featureless, just a mess of cartilage and gray matter. He deserved it. After everything.

            The town square was close now. All the houses were burning. He could see the fallen with their burned wings. He could see the snake of fire in the sky, but he was not afraid. Why should he fear death when living was hardly a better alternative. At least in death, Nana would be waiting for him. He wouldn’t be alone. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the gun, the cool metal sending thrills through him. Distantly, he marveled at his own cruelty and thirst for revenge. Before everything had happened, he was mild mannered and meek, the notoriously bland but kind member of their group. But now here he was, running happily to murder. Nana would laugh. He would be proud. Jeno could almost hear his best friend’s voice in his head.

            _Now finally, you show some grit, No-jam Jeno. I knew you had it in ya._

His eyes were swimming, but whether it be from smoke or the yearning for his best friend, Jeno was not sure. He was only sure that all of this had to end tonight. It had to end tonight, because he couldn’t take anymore.

            Keeping to the shadows of the still intact buildings, Jeno crept closer to the fray, his adrenaline high keeping fear at bay, even as his very bones rattled from the explosions. He could see Mark in the distance, distracted by fighting off the hoards of Fallen. It was a brilliant, unbelieveable sight: one slight, dark haired boy keeping dozens and dozens of monsters at bay. He waved his arm and a great wall of fire ignited several of the fallen who fell screeching like banshees into the buildings below.

            Jeno swept the scene. A few yards behind Mark were the Reverend and his group of clerics. They hadn’t expected the fallen to arrive, not in their wildest dreams. They thought the absorption of the outer sector would be easy. They were frightened, praying, shouting orders to Lucifer to _Burn his former brethren. Smite them, smite them, smite them._

            And Lucifer did as he was told, his casually amused face lit up with dark laughter as he fought and fought and fought his former followers. But the Fallen were not weak, they were getting closer, breaking through Lucifer’s defenses with dogged determination, as if their very beings were whispering, _We will liberate you, our King. We will free you from the chains of man. We will serve you forever._

Mark was not unscathed, he was bleeding from the ears and the hands. Perhaps Lucifer’s power was too much for his small body, perhaps his eardrums had been blown from all the explosions. His face though, gave away no discomfort. It gave away nothing at all but vague entertainment. It wore his face, but that was not Mark any longer. The sight filled Jeno with rage. This was all _their_ fault, the bastards that used the church as a justification for their wickedness. But it would end tonight. He pulled the gun from its holsters, cocked it, and crept closer to where the Reverend stood watching his devil set fire to the world.


	23. Day 430- Fugue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE SWITCH MV WAS FINALLY RELEASED (but a lot of Hansol scenes were edited out... wtf). Anyways, this is the second to last chapter. The next will be the end/ epilogue. Thank you guys for sticking through with me for this long, even as the plot spiraled out of my control :p Thoughts and feedback are always welcome!
> 
> ps. Finals are over. It's time for me to drink all the wine :D

~~

Day 430

~~

            Death watched its mark spread across the city. It spread through fire and injury, explosions and panic. This was nothing new. Death had been alive since god first breathed life into clay and called it man. And every war-torn city was its own small apocalypse. There was a lot of work to be done tonight.

            It swept the streets with its omnipotent eye, collecting souls from each tattered body that hit the gore slicked floor. Once or twice, it passed by a mortally injured child but did not claim its life, an unusual act of mercy from which the children would awaken miraculously despite wounds that should have taken them. Death watched the roofs of houses cave, crushing those who took shelter beneath them, it watched bodies rupture into a wet lotus on the pavement under the steady bombardment from the Fallen flying above.

            Death watched its namesake spreading around the city, but it witnessed people struggling for survival as well. It watched the people huddled safely underground in the bomb shelters, holding one another closely, and it watched those fleeing towards the fallout bunkers with some meager belongings tucked under their arms. A young man, gripping a shivering teen’s arms as they ran through the dangerous alleys, the older one turning to shout over his shoulder to the two other men straggling behind: “Sicheng, Kun! You have to keep up,” as rubble rained down from the buildings above them.

            Elsewhere, it watched a boy just one year shy of manhood slinking in the shadows, closer and closer to a line of Reverends, too distracted by the hellscape in the sky to notice his approach. His eyes were moonstruck with a want for revenge as he reached into his pocket, retrieved a sleek silver gun, cocked it. There were only so many bullets, he could not afford to miss. And just beyond him, a leopard eyed man desperately scouring the decimated streets for any familiar face.

            No matter how many millennia had passed since its conception, mankind still captivated Death. It admired the hellbent tenacity with which they tried to cling to a lifespan that was already so fleeting. If it had more of a mind, Death may have grieved each soul it parted from a body; perhaps even refused its God-given work. But ending was all it had been conceived for, and all it knew how to do.

 

~

 

            Ten could hardly see for from all the dust in his eyes. Everywhere, the air was choked with ash and smoke so dense it coated his skin gray. He coughed, trying to spit the cinders from his mouth as he adjusted the heavy arm slung over his shoulder.

            “Help me here, Johnny.” He whimpered, staggering under his best friend’s weight. Johnny was leaning almost entirely on him, his right ankle was mangled utterly beyond use, and a steadily weeping wound gashed across his temple. They’d been caught in the crossfires of a small blast, but Johnny had gotten the worst of it. Ten almost wished it were the other way around. Had it been Ten that was injured, Johnny would have had no problem at all slinging his petite frame over his shoulder and making a run for it. As it was now though, Ten was barely able to support Johnny’s weight, and his friend was getting more limp by the second.

            They were staggering towards the nearest fallout shelter, and Ten could only hope beyond hope that they hadn’t already closed the heavy iron doors. The bombardments overhead were just getting more frequent. He wasn’t sure how they would survive the night without shelter.

            “We’re almost there.” Ten muttered, and Johnny gave a slight jerk of the head to assure him he was listening, that he was still awake.

            Ten wondered for a moment where everyone else were, his heart constricting at the realization that they were scattered. They had reunited so recently, only to be tossed to the wind. And what would become of them now, with the church so firmly having subjugated Lucifer. It felt like the end. Ten could see no route out of this.

            They reached the entrance to the fallout shelter. A hallelujah on his breath, Ten stumbled down the uncountable flight of stairs; down, down, down until the air grew moist with soil and only a double door of fortified metal stood between him and safety. Eagerly, he pushed on it with his shoulder, muttering to Johnny that they had made it, that they were safe. But the celebration died on his lips because the heavy doors would not open.

            _No, no, no, no…._

            Unceremoniously dropping Johnny to the ground, Ten pounded on the iron door with his fists, his heart flaring in panic because he already knew there was no way anyone inside would hear him through the weight of the metal. They were locked out. They were too late.

            “Let us in,” He begged the door, “Please let us in”

            He pounded on the door until small ravines opened up on his fists, and he sunk down onto the damp soil. Struggling to control his breathing, Ten lifted Johnny up so his head rested on his shoulders. His friend was on the precipice of unconsciousness, and selfishly, Ten didn’t want him to fall into it. He didn’t want to be alone through this.

            “Stay awake with me, Johnny.” Ten said, fumbling into his pocket and unearthing a flask of wormwood liquor. He kept it on him at all times in case he needed to disinfect a wound. He ripped his shirt sleeve off, splashing the cloth with the alcohol. He tied it against Johnny’s head to staunch the bleeding, and then tipped his friend’s head back to pour a little into his mouth. Then a mouthful into his own. The alcohol opened up in a bitter crescendo on his tongue, but it burned so fucking good. Overhead, the ground rumbled and groaned from the battle, and Ten wondered if everything would cave in on them, if they would die without ceremony under a pile of sediment and stone. He took another swig.

            Johnny too, was a little more awake, the horrible bitterness of the drink having jerked him away from unconsciousness. Ten fed him mouthful after small mouthful until eventually the flask was drained and both of their faces were warmed from a welcome buzz. Johnny rested his wounded head on Ten’s lap as the latter bent over him, muttering into his ear about the years before.

            “Do you remember that time when were trainees. We got drunk by the Han river. Yuta fell in, and Hansol went in to help him but he couldn’t swim either so we ended up having to drag both of their asses out?”

            Another small explosion, rubble raining over their heads like rain.

            “Do you remember when he went to Thailand, and we broke curfew to go eat at the night markets. Do you remember how much trouble we were in when manager-hyung realized we’d made a break for it?”

            Johnny chuckled, even in their predicament, never forgetting the humor in things. This is what Ten loved about him. This was what set Johnny apart. He leaned his head in closer, until their noses touched.

            “Do you remember our first rookies concert? Remember how we stayed up all night? Do you remember what it felt like to walk in the sun?”

            _I do, I do, I do._

_~~_

            Taeyong was running. He was shouting until his throat was chafed and raw, but he couldn’t stop now, because he was alone. One moment, he and his friends had been running towards Mark, and then in one blisteringly white moment, the fallen had appeared and blasted their city apart. And Taeyong had lost track of everyone.

            “Ten! Yuta, Hansol, Johnny! Jaehyun…” He staggered, falling to his knees as he held a quivering hand to his sides. In the initial blast, he’d been injured horridly. When Taeyong looked down at his mangled side, he could see the exposed white of splintered ribcage. His entire left pantleg was soaked in viscous blood. This sort of injury would have knocked any normal person unconscious, perhaps even killed them. But he was still functioning, a lucky side effect of being possessed by a demon. Ose’s otherworldy power was keeping him alive, if at least momentarily. It was the first time he ever felt thankful for the monster he’d invoked. Still, it didn’t stop the pain. He felt everything, every gust of wind hitting his exposed flesh like an open and barbed hand.

            Taking a few more shaky breaths, he hoisted himself up, scanning the dust choked streets for any sign of life. Nothing. Everyone had scattered and taken shelter, and those who had not now littered the floor, dead. He couldn’t bear to look too closely at their faces for fear of seeing a loved one there. His breath was hitching despite himself. This was all their fault. In their desperation to save Mark, they’d brought this upon their already blighted city _._ And now hundreds were dead. He hadn’t believed things could get worse. Now Taeyong realized there was no bottom to misery. There were always deeper depths to fall into.

            At a distance, Mark was still holding the Fallen at bay. No, he was beating them back. Taeyong saw that the fallen that had darkened the sky were now whittled down to a couple dozen. But what they lacked in numbered, they fought more ferociously, their orbs of light hurtling earthwards with more force than before. What had been a city was all but leveled, only the frameworks of houses still standing. Lucifer had dispelled the snake of fire in lieu of a blazing whip that ignited the sky with each crack, sending its targets down in a burst of light; and Taeyong could only gape because _this_ was power. _This_ was the monster of monsters. Every other horror he had seen before would bare their palms before this one. And Mark’s face was unaffected. Bored even, as though this were not the show he had come to see. A bitter wash of despair came over him. What could Taeyong do now to help him? What the fuck could he do in the face of such disinterred power?

            **The whelp.**

            Ose’s voice cut across Taeyong’s mind like a knife. Lucifer’s fiery whip cracked across the sky again like slow lighting, sending a few fallen down to the ground in a blaze of light.

            _What?_

**Mind the whelp.**

The whelp. Taeyong looked on towards Mark, who was so utterly beyond his reach, a mere shell of the boy he knew. There was no one there to mind anymore.

            _The whelp? You mean Mark? He’s gone, I’m too late._

**No, not Lucifer’s vessel. The other whelp. The petulant one.**

Confused, Taeyong swept the landscape, the broken buildings, Mark and his glowing red eyes, the line of Reverends that were rejoicing because Lucifer was so, so close to smiting all of the Fallen. There was nothing, Ose was bluffing… but no. Taeyong saw him in the same instance Lucifer lashed out with its blazing whip. Jeno emerged from the shadow of a ruptured edifice, his gun shining in the light of the fire. Taeyong was running before his body was aware of what it was doing, his horribly mangled ribcage laboring under the strain, but he hardly noticed it. Ose’s animal power propelled him quicker than any normal man, but he still wouldn’t make it in time. Taeyong knew this. Still, he ran as Jeno took aim and pulled the trigger. The boy had never shot a gun in his life. He would miss, undoubtedly. But somehow, miraculously, the bullet found its target, though not where Jeno had intended. Reverend Yoo reeled, the bullet having punctured through his shoulder, but the wound was not fatal. The Reverend recovered from surprise quickly, pulling a small pistol out of his own robe.

            Taeyong felt all the breath leave his body. He wouldn’t make it. He wouldn’t make it.

            The Reverend was a good shot. He never missed. He aimed towards Jeno’s prone form, and fired.


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'VE REACHED THE END! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this wild ride. I was so close to giving up on this story so many times, but your thoughtful comments always re-motivated me. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story and how everything turned out, even if you were a silent reader, I'd love to hear your feedback. Gratitude to all of you <3 <3 xoxo

~

Day 430

~~

            It was as if he materialized out of smoke. Taeyong watched it all happen as if in slow motion: the injured Reverend pointing his gun at Jeno who was frozen like an animal of prey. Taeyong was running, despite his horrible wound, despite knowing he wouldn’t make it, and just as his heart resigned itself to watching another of his youngest friends dying before his eyes, a body hurtled out of the darkness and threw Jeno aside.

            The two bodies fell in a heap on the ground, and for too many moments laid inert. Whether it be from shock or injury, Taeyong wasn’t sure, but his mind and heart were reeling. Jeno was the first to come out of his stupor, stirring and weakly rolling out from underneath the person who had saved him, and Taeyong had a second to breathe hallelujah in his mind because Jeno was miraculously uninjured, just stunned and carpeted in dirt. But the prayer died on his tongue the next moment as he recognized who was laying on the ground, unmoving. He would recognize that thin frame anywhere.

            _Doyoung._

Jeno’s face was as blank as paper as he rolled over his hyung, pressing as hand against his chest as if to shake him awake, but his hands came away bloody. He looked at his palms, comprehension dawning slowly on his face at what had just happened. Taeyong finally reached them, collapsing onto his knees. Blood was pounding in his ears, a horrible horrible rhythm that he could hardly think above. He rolled Doyoung onto his back, and gasped as he saw the extent of his wounds. A bullet wound to his chest gurgling the dark blood of the heart, and one to his throat. His voice-box, ruptured, his beautiful, bright voice irrevocably taken. And Doyoung’s sweet face was dazed as he scrabbled at his ruined throat, as if not registering the pain quite yet.

            _God, no no_

A low, animal cry was building in Jeno’s throat. He didn’t know Doyoung had been following him. He didn’t know anyone would dare come after him. He didn’t know his actions would lead to this, or he would have never…

            Doyoung’s wide eyes were already dimming, brimming over with tears as he looked towards the ignited sky. He realized that this was where the book of his life closed, he was no fool. And he didn’t regret it for a moment, not when Jeno was kneeling uninjured because of him. Taeyong gripped his bloodied hand, knowing there would be no saving him, that there was nothing in the world he could do now to stitch shut such grievous wounds. Doyoung didn’t want his tears, or his grief. He wanted them to run. He wanted them to live. Doyoung was mouthing something, trying to disentangle his fingers from Taeyong’s grip, weakly pushing him away, but Taeyong held on tight.

            “Don’t move. What is it?” Taeyong choked out between tears.

            He leaned in closer until he could feel the warmth of Doyoung’s last few breaths. Suddenly, Taeyong wanted nothing more than to hear his friend’s voice, that clear bell that could cleave open morning. That laughter that always reminded him very much of that of a child. But Doyoung couldn’t manage speaking anymore, he could only mouth out the words: _Run, now._ And the world began to dissolve before his eyes.

There had always been a morbid part of Doyoung that wondered what the experience of dying was like, if it was a slow fade to black like the last few reels of a vintage movie, or if it happened all at once. He was pleasantly surprised to realize it was more of a fade to light: his beloved friend’s faces, and beyond them, the hue of the sky becoming pearlescent and bright.  All at once, he was overtaken with a brilliant ache, like he was returning somewhere he once knew and missed, but did not know how. And in the last few moments before he closed his eyes, the world looked as if it were doused in sunlight.

 

~

            Jaehyun watched it happen from a distance. He’d been searching for them, but had found them too late. It seemed he was always too late. He watched Doyoung throwing Jeno aside, his body jerking twice as the bullets entered, he watched Taeyong falling to his knees in disbelief; and his body was abruptly filled with ice. Too late. Always too late. Useless.

            As he ran towards his friends, his mind was helplessly wracked with memories of a life that seemed so distant it may have never been real. The heat of stage lamps, late nights in the dormitories binging on candy and horror movies. Above all, Doyoung’s sweet voice assuring them all: _This is it, friends. We’re in it for the long haul. I’ll always have your backs._

Doyoung had been the beacon of light in their group. The personification of kindness and care, the one who was relentlessly teased and teased but was never temperamental. The self-proclaimed mother of the group. _I’ll always have your backs._  Now he was laying on the ground, his throat a mess of blood and muscle; but somehow his expression was peaceful. For this, at least, Jaehyun was thankful. Why had no one been there to protect him in those last moments? What had he not…

            Neither Jeno nor Taeyong seemed to notice his approach, too horrified at what had just happened. It had taken mere minutes for their friend’s life to be taken. Twenty-one years of sorrows and triumphs, late night treks to the river, stages and song, small annoyances and laughter culminating with two bullets meant for someone else. It was too cruel.

            Jaehyun kneeled down, placing a gentle hand against Taeyong’s quivering ones. For the first time, his hyung seemed to notice his arrival, his beastly beautiful golden eyes meeting Jaehyun’s brown ones with a flash of both horror and relief. Taeyong looked too far gone in his sorrow. Jaehyun could tell immediately that he’d fallen in too deep and was not thinking straight. He just kept clutching the fabric of Doyoung’s shift tighter and tighter, as if to squeeze the life back into him. But Jaehyun knew that to stay idle was to die. And he didn’t know if the trip-wire of his sanity could withstand another death.

            “Hyung, get up.” Jaehyun said, his voice quivering as he noticed for the first time how grievously injured Taeyong was. His ribcage exposed and mangled, the faint beating of his heart vaguely visible beneath the injury. How had he survived such a wound? How was he still functioning?

            _Ose. Ose is what’s keeping him alive._

But not even a demon’s life force would be able to salvage Taeyong if he was injured any further. Jaehyun had to get them out of here. To a fallout shelter if any were still open. Anywhere but here.

            Above their heads, the last of the fallen were struck down by Mark’s fiery whip. Their bodies eroded into smoke before they hit the ground, and as suddenly as they came, the angels were gone. And someone was laughing wildly, maniacally. The Reverend. The last one standing from the entire holy faction that marched on the outer sector. A blade of anger ran through Jaehyun. How could anyone laugh in the face of such destruction? When halved and quartered bodies littered the streets, when his own brothers from the church had all died in the fire he had instigated?

            “Taeyong hyung. Jeno, get up. Please.” Jaehyun begged as the Revered turned his attention to them, his eyes bright red against the flames. He looked like the devil. No, he was the devil in this moment. Not Mark setting the sky on fire with Lucifer’s power, not Ose and his cruel humor and insanity, not any of the other demons that had roamed these streets. In this moment, devil was man. Jaehyun couldn’t understand how he didn’t realize this sooner.

            The Reverend was getting closer, the gun he used to shoot down Doyoung once again in his hand. The Fallen having been defeated, Lucifer was just idly watching, his eyes flickering between the Reverend and the small group of friends huddled on the bloodied ground. His eyes finally registered interest, as if fascinated by the human drama unraveling before him.

            “We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits..” The Reverend began to mutter as he cocked his gun, pointed it in their direction. In his eyes was a lunatic conviction that this was righteousness, that he was truly doing the lord’s work. Jaehyun pulled at Taeyong’s sleeve, trying to get him up, but he too was rooted to the ground, just staring and staring down at Doyoung’s face; his face a water-worn stone. What in the world was he thinking?

           “all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects. As smoke is driven away, so are they driven; as wax melts before the fire, so the wicked perish at the presence of God…”

            A hand was tugging at his sleeve. Jaehyun dared a glance to his left, and saw that it was Jeno. His face staring doggedly at the Reverend’s approach, but his hand was secretly trying to get Jaehyun’s attention, was slipping something cold and heavy in his hand. Jaehyun glanced down. A gun. The one Jeno had tried and failed to kill the Reverend with. He cocked it secretly, waited for the Reverend to approach just a little closer. Jaehyun was not a bad shot. But Taeyong was better. If only Taeyong was not in a catatonic stupor. Still, he had to try.

            And there was not much time because the Reverend was getting ready to shoot, pointing the barrel of his gun at Jaehyun’s face. He sprung up, pressing his own trigger at the same time. He felt something lodging into his shoulder, and realized dully he’d been shot, but it didn’t matter, because so had the Reverend. Jaehyun had been aiming for the head, may have hit if only his own injury hadn’t caused him to jerk to the side. But he’d managed to hit the Reverend’s hand: the gun falling dented to the ground, and his hand was a mangled mess of tendon and bone. The Reverend screeched, looking at his ruined hand in disbelief. Jaehyun’s heart jumped into his throat: if he was going to kill the Reverend, now as the time. He stood, aiming the gun once again. This time, he wouldn’t miss. This time he would shoot the mother fucker in the head. For the first time, he saw the Reverend’s eyes register horror at the prospect of his defeat, his pupils becoming so small they were barely specks.

            “You can’t kill me, I’m a man of God.” He said, his voice pitched and a little hysterical.

            Jaehyun felt his hands shaking, but he worked to steady them. He didn’t give a shit what the Reverend said. He was no man of God. He was a fraud. A pedophile. A murderer. He deserved this death. Biting his lip, he pressed down on the trigger….

           And felt the gun rock uselessly in his hand.

           There were no more bullets in the chamber. No more bullets. Jaehyun may have fallen into hysterical laughter if the wave of despair didn’t hit him so hard.

           The Reverend who had been practically cowering like an animal was suddenly animated again.

           “Lucifer!” He shouted towards Mark who almost seemed to imperceptibly roll his eyes. “Lucifer! Kill them all! Protect me!”

           At the Reverend’s orders, the Devil’s trap burned on Mark’s skin glowed a brilliant white, and he took to the sky. His one, charred wing somehow granting him temporary flight, despite all logic. Jaehyun watched Mark raise his hand, his palms beginning to glow hell-red in preparation to set them all ablaze.

 _Ah, so this is how it ends._ Jaehyun thought dully, a litany of memories parading his mind of the past two years. The first terrifying few weeks in which possessed people roamed the streets, the many months giving up his body to the Lilin, the first breathlessly joyous reunion with their friends in the Holy Sector, Taeyong’s lips mapping a warm trail down his throat, Mark’s invocation, Jaemin’s final, happy dazed moments. 

_So this is how we go._

           He was ready. Jaehyun closed his eyes, preparing to feel the unimaginable heat, but it never came. Taeyong was suddenly coming alive, his beautiful face carved with miserable determination; the final struggle of a stunned finch. He stood, picking up Doyoung’s limp body in his arms. He was running towards where Mark was hovering in the air, preparing to set fire to everything they loved.

For a moment, Jaehyun figured that after so long being possessed by the demon patron of insanity, Taeyong had finally lost his mind. He held Jeno back as he watched Taeyong run until he was almost beneath Mark. He lifted Doyoung’s limp form up like an offering, and when he spoke, his voice was tremulous with grief, but unafraid. He’d already lost everything, what was there to fear now?

            “MARK!” His voice rising above the blaze and the crackling of the edifices. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?”

            Lucifer stayed his hand for a moment, his eyes once again flickering in fascination. He was used to selfish pigs like the Reverend beseeching him for help. And here this boy was, making a plea, not to him, the king of demons, but to the young boy inside of him. This sort of contempt and bravery was rare indeed.

            “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, MONSTER? BURN THEM” The Reverend screeched, past the point of livid that his subjugated demon was resisting the devil’s trap, even if for just a moment.

            “Jaemin-ie is gone too. Oh Mark, please wake up!” Taeyong’s voice was growing weaker. “You’re stronger than this. Wake up.”

 

~

**Wake up.**

No. He didn’t want to. He was tired. Hadn’t he been through enough? Didn’t he deserve rest?

            **Vessel. Wake up.**

He placed his hands over his ears, but it was useless. The voice was ringing from within, something he could not escape or ignore. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself curled embryonically around himself. It was as if he were floating in the night sky, a warm nothingness that was both vast and singular. For the time being, he didn’t have a sense of identity, no name, no memory. All he knew was that he was safe here. Safe. That was all he could ever want to be.

**Mark.**

            The name stabbed him like a knife, and suddenly everything was collapsing into a vortex: that warm ether that had felt so safe suddenly crumpling into an amalgamation of memories; both his own and not his own. Lucifer was inundating him, waking him from the catatonia he had been in for the past few days. And suddenly everything hurt. Mark gasped as his body collapsed into a fit of coughing so severe it carpeted his palms in blood. And then he felt the warmth escaping from his ears and nose. More blood. Oh, god he was in so much pain.

            **The strain of my powers injure you.**

Lucifer’s voice rang in his head. Mark shook his head, opening his eyes again, but he was not seeing the world. He was still in the ambiguous darkness, nestled in the room of his own mind. What had the church been forcing his body to do in the past few days he’d been receded and blind? Mark couldn’t even bear to imagine.

            **He’s calling for you.**

_Who is?_

**The one possessed by the demon of insanity.**

_Who?_

**The one with the golden eyes.**

For a moment, Mark was dumbstruck. And then suddenly he remembered that brief moment before he’d summoned Lucifer. Taeyong had come to try and save him. He’d been controlling animals, been somehow compelling clerics to jump into the line of fire…. His eyes had been inexplicably golden…

            _Taeyong!_

**Perhaps. Would you like to see him?**

Without waiting for a response, the blackness below Mark began to ripple like an unquiet pond. And then suddenly, he could see the world below him for the first time in days. He gasped as he saw his city that was no longer a city, just a pile of rubble reddened with embers. Had he done that? And then his eyes found him: Taeyong. His familiar, lovely face rendered just slightly uncanny by the headlight gold of his eyes. And in his arms….

            “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?” He lifted Doyoung’s unconscious… no…dead body.

            Mark reeled backwards. Trying to get away from the image playing before his eyes, but he couldn’t. Lucifer was holding him there, forcing him to look upon his friend’s body: the bullet holes, his pale skin streaked with crimson, his expression that may have been that of slumber. If Mark didn’t know better. If only…

            _What happened?_

**Our enslaver shot him.**

Mark sobbed, disbelief coursing through his mind. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t.

            The projection of Taeyong faltered, his voice weakening. But he continued: “Jaemin-ie is gone too. Oh Mark, please wake up.”

            He was on his knees now, though he had no recollection of having fallen.

            _Enough. No, no, I’ve seen enough. It can’t be real._

The image below him rippled once and was gone, once more just endless darkness. Everything was quiet in his head expect for the sound of his own labored breathing. He couldn’t accept this. Despite all of the horrors he had witnessed, despite all the death that strangled their city, he had not been prepared to lose one of his own. And now he couldn’t get the image of Doyoung’s ruined throat out of his mind. He wanted to hurl. He wanted to claw at his eyes until his vision was gone.

            **But it is real, young master. Are you distraught? Are you angry? Where will you go from here?**

Mark couldn’t answer. He could barely think. Doyoung and Jaemin, gone. And the rest. Where were the rest? 

            **The Devil’s trap binds only me.**

Mark could hardly focus on Lucifer’s words as the demon continued on, his voice as even and unaffected as ever.

            **You still have the gift of free will.**

Mark was falling, the cavern of his own mind opening beneath him and he was returning to his body. When he opened his eyes again, he was back, the night air he was hovering in blistering with embers. He looked down and saw his own palms reddened with fire, and his chest cut with the devil’s trap. Taeyong was sobbing on the ground beneath him, still holding Doyoung up like a sleeping child.

            **They haven’t taken it. So use it.**

~~

            Jaehyun watched in disbelief as the tears began to fall from Lucifer’s eyes. They fell in rivulets, despite his still expressionless face. Why was Lucifer crying? Why…and then he knew it all at once: Mark was reemerging. Even from afar, he could see the familiar warmth and innocence returning to Mark’s eyes, and the iciness of Lucifer was slowly thawed from his expression.

            “Lucifer!” The Reverend cried out, and the devil’s trap carved into Mark’s chest flashed once.

            As quick as a lightning strike, Mark pressed his blazing palm against his own chest, searing a black handprint against the Devil’s trap, ruining the insignia. It flashed weakly before flickering out completely; rendered useless. Mark sputtered at the scent of his own burning skin, but he had to render the second one useless before the Reverend could seize control again. Gritting his teeth, he sent a rush of flames across his own back until the skin on which the last devil’s trap was carved into blacked and peeled back. And then he was free. He felt all of Lucifer’s powers returning to him full force as the Reverend’s control of him dispelled. Without the devil’s traps weighing him down, Mark was practically crackling with demonic power. He could snap his fingers and set fire to the world. But he didn’t want that. His eyes were trained on one person. Just one being he was determined to burn.

            The Reverend’s eyes grew wide as he realized that he had lost control, that all of his holy wards could not protect him now. He began to back away, his ruined hand waving desperately as Mark loomed over him, his single wing casting prison-bar shadows to streak the floor where he stood. He took up a desperate prayer.

            “G-god by your name save me… and b-by your might defend my cause, hear my prayer and—

            “He’s not listening.” Mark said in Lucifer’s cold voice, and then in his own more boyish one: “Not to you. Not after everything you’ve done.”

            “I’m a man of God!” The Reverend screeched, to the very end convinced of this. But Mark was finished listening to him. He raised his hand, felt Lucifer’s presence behind him, steadying his aim.

            “Didn’t I say I smelled Hell all over you, Reverend?”  Lucifer grinned and he let Mark unleash their fire.

            It engulfed the Reverend like an unhinged jaw, blackening his skin until it peeled back like bark from a birch tree, it crackled his fat and filled the air with his smoke. He fell to his knees, trying to beat away the flames, but it was useless. Useless. It was hellfire, more incendiary than anything this world knew. But it was slow to kill. He screamed until his vocal cords collapsed and he was on the ground, a wizened, mummy thing that could conceive of only pain. And then, in his final moments: a film feel in his head. His own voice proudly proclaiming at the alter: _I am a man of God. I am a man of God, I am…_ Then the memory of his own hand slicing into the throat of a man he knew was innocent. His own hands impinging on a child in exchange for more rations. His wild joy at wielding a demon, his lust towards that darkness. How he beheld Lucifer and found him beautiful. His robe sleeves doused in blood and liquor. In his mind, he saw heaven’s eye opening to observe his fiery death, and in judgement, turning away.

 

~~

            Mark coldly watched the Reverend burn into a smoldering heap of flesh below him, and felt nothing. He’d deserved it. Hell had been waiting long enough for him, and surely, he was now in it. Taeyong was gazing weakly towards Mark’s spot in the sky. Jaehyun and Jeno holding each other a few feet back. They all were washed over with the same undeniable realization that everything would come to an end soon. That it must because the world had endured all it can.

            _Lucifer._

Mark said in his mind, surprised at his own confidence. His own conviction that, yes, he could end this. That he had been worthy of merging with Lucifer, and he was worthy of casting him out.

            **Young master.**

_You are powerful and fair. You gifted us all with knowledge and free will._

**Yes.**

_If this is all true, I ask you to help me fulfill my will. You can do that, right?_

He heard the demon chuckling in his head.

            **So you plan on using my pride, my greatest flaw, against me?**

 _Please._ Mark said in his mind. Then all of a sudden, he couldn’t stop begging, his desperation overtaking his very being. _Please, please, please_

 **My vessel should never grovel.** Lucifer’s voice sounded firm. Then after a moment: **What will you have me do?**

_Please end this for me. You and every being like you, that is under your control. Please, take them back. Our worlds were never meant to merge. This was never supposed to happen. The souls meant to be under your dominion will find their way to you eventually, but until then, begone. I need you to…_

 **Drag them back to hell.** Lucifer said, amusement ripe on his voice. Mark remembered that Lucifer had never wanted to come to earth. He had been dragged up by the forced invocation. The underworld was his home and domain.

            **You do realize that your friend possessed by Ose will likely die from his injuries without the demonic presence? That your life-span without me will be halved?**

Mark looked down towards his friends, at Taeyong’s horrid, life threatening injuries. Yes. He knew. And Taeyong knew too, somehow. Their eyes met: red on gold, and a thread of understanding passed between them. Taeyong’s kind eyes said that yes, he knew death would take him if the deal was made, and no, he would not resent anyone for it. He offered a small smile that radiated love and was not afraid. Mark felt his heart clench, but he knew that this was an exchange he would have to make. His beloved friend’s life for everyone else’s safety. This was just always how it had been, Taeyong offering himself up and receiving nothing in return. His heart was breaking. But there was no other way.

            _Yes._

Lucifer was quiet in his mind for a moment. Then softly, **You’ve impress me with your brazen fortitude. It was fun while it lasted, young master. Your will is my own.**

            All at once, all of the fires around the city flickered off, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. The possessed that had survived the explosions fell to their knees as the ghosts that inhabited them were abruptly ripped away, dragged back to their own realms. Some bodies, too forgone fell away into ash and bone, but others coughed, opened their eyes, sputtering as their minds returned to themselves. Realizing that the explosions from above have stopped, people slowly began to emerge from the fallout shelters, bewildered at their leveled city. All around the world, the goetic demons were being hurtled back to where they came from, Lucifer’s omnipotent eye compelling them to leave this earth. To return to him. To return to their underworld home where they rightly belonged, where they ruled as dukes and kings and answered to no one.

            Taeyong felt the exact moment when Ose left him because the _pain._ The pain of his injury hit him like a train, and he was falling on his knees, toppling over Doyoung’s still body. He gasped, pressing a hand against the wound that wept blood, and he felt the warmth of his own exposed heart beating weakly beneath ruined flesh. He was dying. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because it was finally, finally over. He collapsed, felt Jaehyun’s tears running hot over his face, felt the warmth of a final kiss.

            And then the sun.

            The sun.

            Mark felt Lucifer’s presence finally leave his body, and he was falling from the sky, his useless wing no long under his control. He was plummeting to the ground, but it didn’t matter because the sun was rising for the first time in 430 days, a bright egg in the sky bathing everything in rose-gold light. It didn’t matter if he fell to his death now if this was the last thing he could behold.

            But no, Jaehyun ran under him. Breaking his fall, and they toppled to the ground together, winded. Jaehyun struggled, found his way into seated position, and cradled Mark in his arms, bending down low and planting gentle kisses on his nose, his cheek, his forehead, his one, single rams horn; that vestige of having shared his body with a demon king. Jaehyun couldn’t catch his breath, he was sobbing so hard because the reign of the underworld had finally come to an end, but Taeyong was dead and his heart was torn between oscillations of wild joy and wild misery.

            “What have I done?” Mark breathed, his eyes so kind and soft, just like Jaehyun always remembered. Nothing could change that about him, not even the devil. “What have I done?”

            Jaehyun shook his head, placing a bracing hand across Mark’s eyes. He didn’t need to see the smoking rubble of Seoul all around them, nor did he need to see the corpses that littered the streets in varying levels of wholeness. For now, Jaehyun just wanted him to feel the heat of the sun which he brought back. The carnage, they would reckon with later, and together.

            “You caused the sunrise.” Jaehyun whispered as he felt the boy go unconscious in his arms.

 

~~

One year later

~~

            Their home was a wild-fire of activity, and how could it not be with the sheer amount of people that inhabited it? But today more than most, they were raucous. The kitchen in particular was practically fogged with cooking. Yuta, Hansol and Taeil were bickering about the best way to steam a fish, while Johnny and Ten were impatiently sitting in front of the oven, waiting for the cake to rise. Winwin and Kun were sitting before the radio, listening to the announcements about the festivities happening in the city center to commemorate the one year anniversary of the sun rising once more.

            And yes, they too were preparing for a celebration, but not for the sun. They were going to celebrate the memory of the friends they had lost.

            It had been a year, a full year since the beings of the underworld had been pulled back to where they had come from, but the vestiges of those years in terror never fully left. Some like Donghyuk and Ten had developed PTSD from those hours shivering in the fallout shelter. Their night terrors were extreme, often waking the whole household by the verve of their screams. But they were becoming less frequent, less intense. After Doyoung’s death, Jeno had become depressive, convinced it was his fault. But he was on medication now, and was doing better, talked about death less often. They would be alright. It wasn’t really them Jaehyun was worried about.

            “The cake will probably be nice with some strawberries, no? Strawberry cake was always Jaemin’s favorite. I’ll go get some.” Jaehyun said to Johnny, who was in the middle of some bawdy joke. Johnny was the least changed through all of their ordeal. He still found humor in things, and never failed to lift the mood when one of them began to succumb to sadness, and for that, Jaehyun was always grateful.

            Hooking a knife into his belt, Jaehyun stepped outside. It was more of a habit than anything. After learning that hell was indeed a real destination, the crime rate had fallen. Besides, cititzens were too busy trying to rebuild their city to commit crimes. Jobs were plentiful for now with all of the construction and rebuilding of infrastructure that needed to take place, and with the population nearly halved, there was plenty of resources to go around. But old habits die hard, and 430 days of living in constant danger had changed him. Jaehyun doubted he would ever be able to walk the streets unarmed ever again, his mind wouldn’t let him.

            He walked down the streets towards their hidden garden, basking in the wonder at how quickly their city was being rebuilt: the new houses that seemed to have sprouted out seemingly overnight. The streets that had been ruptured and stained red in blood had long since been paved over, and yes, even advertisements were beginning to go up again in their city; a sign of some returning industry. Even after apocalypse, people didn’t lose their will to go on. Mankind were as industrious as ants, for all of their flaws and evils, this at least, was worthy of respect.

            Taking a right turn at a deserted alley, Jaehyun descended into a woodsy area. Their members had stumbled upon a loamy terrain many months ago that was fertile and already overladen with boysenberries. Since then, they had planted other species of berries, tomatoes, an apple-tree that would probably give fruit in the next year. This was a place of comfort for them, a place where they could try their hands at giving new life, a place to forget the lives that they had taken.

            “I knew you’d be here.” Jaehyun said warmly towards the boy who had been pruning the apple trees.

            Mark turned and gave a small smile. Jaehyun almost couldn’t believe how much he had grown. He was a year shy of twenty, and nearly as tall as him. The baby fat of his cheeks had all eroded away. He was a handsome man now, but that didn’t stop him from being ostracized from the world at large. The mark of Lucifer was still upon him. One of his eyes was still headlight red. Though he’d painstakingly sawed most of it off, the boney stub of his wing and horn were still visible. All of the citizens were too afraid to speak to him, assuming he had just been another cultist who had once summoned a demon out of greed. They didn’t know the circumstances behind what had happened to Mark. Nor did Mark care to explain. He was too humble to take credit for the sun rising again. He was too humble to admit that he had dispelled all of the monsters.  In the past few months, Mark had stopped even trying to rejoin society. He knew he would always be othered, be feared, so he spoke and hung around only the members. It broke Jaehyun’s heart that after all he’d gone through to bring safety to the world, this was the thanks he got.

            “Look hyung. All the blossoms. We’ll definitely have apples this time next year.” Mark said, plucking one of the bunched white flowers and handing it to Jaehyun. The older boy gazed at the crepe-paper blossoms, inexplicably was reminded of Taeyong. He tucked it into his shirt.

            “Can’t wait.” Jaehyun said, sitting down on a stump and patting the rough bark beside him, indicating for Mark to sit down. The younger boy obeyed, sitting heavily, watching the earthworms beginning to squirm to the surface of the soil. Overhead, the sun was starting to go down, throwing light like pink silk over the eaves of the city.

            “How are you holding up?” Jaehyun asked, and Mark just looked down at his shoes silently for a few moments.

            “It’s weird. The whole city is celebrating a day that two of our best friends died. I can hear music from the city center. But all I want to do is hold some of their old clothes and cry.” Mark admitted.

            Jaehyun placed a hand over Mark’s head fondly. “It’s not like that with us. We’re celebrating their memory. Not that day. Never that day.”

            A ghost of a smile played on Mark’s lips and Jaehyun was inexplicably reminded of how the boy had looked when they first met. How small and frail and so very fragile he had been; a rail thin boy barely in his teens. Now he was tougher than anyone. Taeyong would be so proud.

Taeyong, who they would be joining soon enough. Jaehyun observed Mark’s face. They both quietly understood that neither of them would live very long. Both of their life-spans would be curtailed by what had happened to them: Mark’s possession by Lucifer, Jaehyun’s months with the Lilin demons. But neither of them were sad, and neither of them resented the inevitable because they had faith that their loved ones would be waiting to receive them on the other side.

            Fondly, Jaehyun planted a kiss on what remained of Mark’s horn, a reminder that no, the horn did not make him a monster or any less worthy of love.

            “Come on kid, Johnny needs strawberries for the cake. You know strawberry frosting was always Jaemin’s favorite.”

            The two worked steadily, picking a basket of strawberries and gooseberries for good measure, before setting off back towards their house. It was nearly night now, the sky a deep azure blue punctuated with stars. After the 430 days of darkness, there were many people in the world who now associated night with evil and refused to leave their houses, but Jaehyun knew that was not so. If he learned anything at all during those 430 days, it was that there was no such thing as absolute good or evil, only ambiguous shades and people running the gamut between them. Like Taeyong. Taeyong who was so kind, and so selfless and loyal, and how that had caused him to invoke something wicked, to take many lives. And he had always been a creature of the moon, not the sun. It was nighttime when Jaehyun felt the one he had loved and lost was most near.

            They arrived home to love, embraces from friends that belied the core anxiety that every parting might be the last. This was another scar of the past that would never leave them. But for now, they celebrated, drank wine, broke bread. They exchanged stories well into the morning about their friends that had left them too soon, but none grew sleepy. They watched the sun rise over the trees, calling in a new year. From where they sat at the window, it looked as if the branches had thrown up their arms in celebration of the dawn, as if all the trees of the field were clapping their hands.


	25. After Hours I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write a spin-off of this story for so long now, and finally here I am! I wonder if anyone will still be interested xD This spin-off will be short, probably three chapters at most, but I was interested to explore what life might be like a year on from the epilogue. Be warned, it will be dark and angsty, and my country is going through a weird time socially and politically, and that may end up being reflected here. Thank you to anyone who decides to pick up this story again for the spin-off chapters, and I hope you share your thoughts and feedback <3

Another brilliant morning. The sun heaved itself over the horizon with a demure golden glow and could anyone not rejoice at light after a solid year of darkness?

          Mark was nudged awake by the sunlight, his body now somehow tuned to not waste even a minute in which the world was illuminated. He loved sunlight like never before: the glow and the bronze of it. The way the eaves of the houses looked under the assault of daybreak. After the year of night, he feared he would never tire of the light, even if light rejected him. He yawned, stretching his rather lanky body like a cat until the soles of his feet hung pathetically off the bed frame. In the past year, he’s outgrown the bed, his lithe limbs having overtaken the frame with his newfound height. He was twenty now. No longer a child, and his body had finally decided to catch up with him. He was almost as tall as Jaehyun. If only Taeyong could see him now.

_Taeyong._

         For a moment, his heart crumpled. _Jaemin. Doyoung. Taeyong._ It had been nearly two years since the sun returned, since the underworld sealed shut. But the gaping wounds left behind by the deaths of his friends never really seemed to heal. They merely cauterized, stopped bleeding for a moment, until a memory peeled away the scab and the hurt returned anew.

          Two years. Somehow it was both a miniscule and immense measure of time.

         Mark actually remembered precious little of that night when Lucifer had used his body to wage war against the fallen. He’d spent the duration of the night locked in a crevice of his mind: a smooth blackness punctuated by the vague sound of human screaming. Nothingness. Nothingness. For what could have been minutes or years, nothingness. He’d disassociated to the highest degree. And how could he have done anything but, with the body horror he’d undergone in the Holy Sector? But he did have a few scattered memories: Taeyong crying, holding a limp Doyoung up in his arms, pressing a searing palm onto his own chest to sever the lines of the devil’s trap, the scent of his own burning flesh. And then falling…. Falling. Jaehyung hyung’s tears and his arms.

_You brought the sunrise._

         The sunrise.

          Mark blinked at the dusty sunlight filtering through the slatted curtain, willing his memories to dispel. He couldn’t handle a journey through the past today. He didn’t want to be confronted with that pain now. He wanted to live like death was nowhere in the background. Just for a moment. But the memory of Taeyong’s feline, golden eyes. Jaemin’s wide smile. Doyoung’s voice.

        Death was always around the corner. It was always watching him. And it would come to claim him soon. Mark brushed the dark hair from his eyes with his ruined hand, the one the Reverend had broken four of the fingers on. They had never had the time to set and heal the break properly, so now that hand was all but unusable, the fingers stiff and unbending, still at odd, unsightly angles. It was just another reminder of what had happened to him.

      “Hyung.” A slight knock at the door. Donghyuk’s voice, as sweet as ever. Mark turned towards the door, the dark curtain of his hair falling back darkly before his eyes.

        “Hyung, we’re going out to the market to stock up on provisions. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”

         There was not invitation in Donghyuk’s voice. He didn’t offer if Mark would like to accompany them outside of the house. Mark didn’t resent this. He knew there was a prejudice against in this newly rebuilt society against anyone who had invoked a demon in the past. Lately, anyone found out to have been in a cult or worse, had merged with a demon in the past were past the point of ostracization in society. They were demonized. Made to be murderous monsters. A new sort of hate crime had been spiking in their city as of late, and that was hate crime against people like him. Past demon mergers. “The filthies,” as they were colloquially called. And no law enforcement ever lifted a finger to do anything about it. His friends were merely trying to protect him from that sort of violence. But still, it stung a bit to never be extended an invitation to leave the house before nightfall. Mark rolled into sitting position and caught a reflection of himself in the mirror. Even a year after Lucifer, his boyish features were still marred with the signs of the devil: one of his pupils glowed bright red. The remnants of a rams horn still protruded from one side of his head, despite how meticulously he had tried to saw it off. But most damning at all, the stub of his single boney wing. The wing he’d asked Jaehyun to pin him to the ground to saw off just short of the socket. Ten and Taeil had objected to the idea, worried that it would cause chronic pain in Mark’s shoulder. But that didn’t worry him. He wanted the damn wing off of his body. And so they had laid a tarp down on the kitchen floor and Hansol had brought out the saw. It had been a bloody, sinewy mess back then. Mark had bit down on a rag and didn’t cry, but Donghyuk did; unable to negotiate watching his friend in so much pain. The wound had long since healed. It was just a tangled snarl of scar tissue now, but the slight protrusion at the shoulder, the red eye, the remnants of horn still gave Mark away as a former vessel. But he’d never wanted this in the first place. He’d been coerced into merging with Lucifer. But that wouldn’t make a difference in the public’s eyes. It was all the same. He was half demon blood. He was filthy. Not worthy of the daylight.

          “Hyung?”

          “I don’t need anything.” Mark said, a little too harshly. He got up, opening the blinds fully until his body was doused in sunlight. A brilliant ache because he couldn’t leave the home until the sun had gone down and everyone had returned to their houses. Only in the darkness that he hated was he free to roam and do as he wanted without fear of prosecution. But this wasn’t Donghyuk’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault except the Reverend’s. And he was long dead.

          “Be safe. I’m fine. Thank you.” Mark added gently.

           He heard Donghyuk hesitate outside the door, obviously weighed down by the guilt of leaving Mark behind. And then the door was opening. Donghyuk stepped in, a sorry smile of his tanned face. The maknae had grown quite gaunt in the past year; any teenage chubbiness having dispelled from the strain of a forced manhood. He’d been forced to mature sooner than he should have, and it showed on the lines of his face. There was a line of girls a mile long trying to woo him nowadays, but whether he wanted to take the hook for any, Mark wasn’t sure.

          Donghyuk entered the room, pulling a plum from his coat pocket.

          “You’ve worked magic on our garden. I went yesterday, and found them overladen with these.” Mark outstretched his palm to feel the weight of the fruit. The gentle give, the easily bursting skin that belied succulence.

         “Thank you.” Mark said nakedly. It had been so long since he’d dared to go out in the sunlight, and this evidence of the fruit of his labors was as good as his Dongsaeng bringing back a sliver of the sun to him.

          There was an unreadable sadness on Donghyuk’s face, like a guilt without name.

         “It won’t be like this forever.” He reassured, and before Mark could answer, “We’ll be back in time for dinner.”

           The resounding sound of Donghyuk’s steps walking away from him thudded like a heartbeat. Outside his room, he heard the clamoring of his hyungs pulling on their coats to go to the markets, and then soon, utter silence. Mark was alone, a dark plum sitting in the palm of his hand. Its dark juices. His fingers all mangled and bent out of shape around the fruit.

 

~~

           Sometimes he still had nightmares of those nights spent in the Holy Sector’s marble floors. He could still smell the red wine rancor of Reverend Yoo’s breath (Reverend Yoo, who he had burned with his own hands). He could still hear the inhuman screeching of those poor bastards in the video recordings that had failed to merge with Lucifer. He could still see their chests collapsing into black caverns. Sometimes, he would wake sputtering because he would remember the hours in which they held him under water, bringing him up only when he was in danger of dragging too much water into his lungs. The blind whiteness of stupor. Sometimes he would wake clutching his own hand, screaming blood murder because _Oh god,_ the Reverend was behind him again, whispering in his ear about how strong he was. How exemplary. He much he would like to break him. Whispers that were empty until they were not. Until the Reverend was pulling his smallest finger back, back, back until it strained in its socket. Until the pain was blinding, and then a snap like a branch breaking. His bone. His fucking bone. And then his ring finger, back, back, broken; like a talon. Never again to be usable. Stiff, unsightly. His fucking hand that used to hold pens, hold mics. Unusable. Again and again, his days of torture. And then the vestiges of Lucifer’s voice whispering in his head: _My vessel. My vessel._ That otherworldly heat that skirted up his fingertips to the base of his very spine. He had killed people. He had reduced bodies into a smoldering heap with his palms, and he hadn’t felt any horror then. Only numbness. And society was right, he was a monster. A monster. Red eyed. Horned. Often, he wouldn’t wake from these nightmares until someone, anyone would shake him out of it. Sometimes it was Donghyuk’s panicked hands, sometimes one of the hyungs: Yuta, Ten, Hansol, Winwin…. but most often it was Jaehyun. He would pull him into his lap, Brush sweat soaked hear from his face, skirt the stump of his horn.

_Shhhh… it’s okay. You’re safe Shhh.._

          But what would they know? They had never killed a man in the same way he had. They had never driven a knife into a chest and then dug in a pattern as if to excavate the heart. They hadn’t felt flesh dislodge and gurgle under their hands. They didn’t know the horror of summoning. It wasn’t okay, and Mark didn’t feel safe. Only Taeyong hyung would have understood. Taeyong who had done as he did. Taeyong who had been possessed by Ose. Taeyong who had summoned and invoked and died. Taeyong.

 

 

~~

          As usual, the market was a wild-fire of activity. Despite the fact that industry and commerce were beginning to re-emerge post-apocolypse, it was hard to resist the allure of untaxed goods. Though black market activity was technically illegal, law enforcement rarely cracked down on it. And so peddlers set up camp back where the killing fields used to be. Where there once were dead goats strung up in the trees to lure away wild cats and other hungry animals of prey from the town center, there were tents of street hawkers, selling their goods. Down one alley of tents were steaming aisles of gurgling soup heavy with chive and garlic, hot piles of blood sausage, lotus root candied to a sticky brown with melted sugar. Down another dizzyingly busy aisle of tents were knickknacks: random house wares, pre-apocolypse grade porcelain, glass pipes for Tabaco and weed. There was even a small corner where drugs were sold without prescription: antidepressants, anxiety medication, morphine.

         Donghyuk pushed back his tangled brown hair as he walked down the aisles slowly, trailing a ways behind his hyungs. He could still see Johnny’s broad form in the distance, but he didn’t care to hurry to keep up. He knew where they were going: they went to the same few vendors every week, and today they needed lighter fluid and batteries. Simple, essential stuff.

         He could feel the eyes on them as they walked. The gaggle of girls that stole glances and giggled amongst themselves like they hungered for something forbidden. Donghyuk didn’t particularly mind this attention. His few years as a celebrity had accustomed him to it, and though he was very far from that life now, he still remembered how to skirt the gazes; how to keep his eyes level and expression immutable. No, it wasn’t the yearning gazes of the girls that was the most troublesome, after all. As usual, he could feel the hot, angry stares of the other civilians. They knew about Mark, about his previous demon possession. Donghyuk knew about the ripe rumors that were spread all around town about he and his hyungs harboring a demon child. And then soon after, rumors about Jaehyun’s time with the Lilin had also somehow come to light. He knew what was said about their group: demon sympathizers, cultists, Satanists.

          But it wasn’t true. They didn’t know how hard they had all fought during the year of darkness. They didn’t know the sun had only returned because Mark willed it to. And now he was basically under house arrest, unable to enjoy the fruits of his own labor because of these fucking paranoid, intolerant people. It was enough to curdle his blood.

         Donghyuk hurried along towards the hardware vendor his hyungs visited exclusively. Not many vendors were willing to sell to them, even in the black market. Their poor reputation preceded them. But this particular vendor was kind, and knew Taeil and Johnny from their time in the Holy Sector.

         “Same thing today?” The old man asked, pocketing a few coins and heaving over a heavy canister of lighter fluid towards Johnny. Despite the weight, Johnny threw it over his shoulder easily, extending the vendor an easy smile.

         “How is business old man?” He asked in his familiar, clumsy Korean.

         “Not good kid. The government is finally starting to crack down on the black markets. About once a week, we get raided and have to pack up out things in a hurry and scatter like fucking rats.” The vendor said, nervously glancing over his shoulders. “Things are beginning to change, I can feel it and it’s no good.”

         “What do you mean?” Ten asked in his usual bright way. “I’m sure it’s just their desperate attempt to re-establish industry and commerce, but once the economy stabilizes more, I doubt they’ll care about a few back-alley merchants trying to make a buck.”

          The man shook his head, his hand grasping almost out of habit for the cross necklace he no longer wore. The habits of the Holy Sector were hard to kick.

         “It’s not only that. Haven't you heard? The government is trying to get their hands in everything. Because they’re afraid no one is taking them seriously enough. There’s talks of them trying to pass some dangerous legislation. Something about putting all past vessels on a registry and de-criminalizing discrimination against them.”

         Donghyuk felt ice running through his veins. Even without formal government bills, society was already having a field day discriminating against past cultists or former vessels like Mark, and the thought that he would now potentially have to be put on a registry like a fucking criminal was too much for him to bear. And beyond that, Donghyuk didn’t even want to think of the upsurge in hate crimes that would happen if the government truly did de-criminalize it.

         “The sentiment against vessels is already so bad, the law is just swooping in to create a common enemy to rally the public against. It gives the law more power, you see, if the public see them as being on their side. If it seems like they are all working towards eradicating the same problem.”

          Eradicating a problem. Like weeds.

         “They can’t do this!” Yuta hissed under his breath, his knuckles white from tension. He couldn’t help but think of Mark at home. Alone, gazing at the slivers of sunlight through the slatted curtains. He was not a monster, he was just a boy entering into an adulthood that was dark and lonely and frightening.

         “But they will.” The old vendor said sadly, looking up towards the sky at the sun slowly making an arc downwards. Everywhere in the black market, the vendors and shoppers were getting ready to return to their homes, not wanting to be outside when the sun had gone down. Donghyuk and his hyungs felt no such fright. They weren’t afraid of the night, they were only afraid of other people, they only feared the consequences of ignorance and unfounded, irrational fear.

         “Lets go back home to Mark.” Hansol said quietly, a strange undercurrent of worry in his voice.

          As the boys turned to leave, Donghyuk couldn’t help but feel the lingering heat of the glares hitting the back of his head. He turned, startled to see a small group of civilians milling around them, whispering amongst themselves.

          “We know about the thing you’re holing up in your home. That filth with the horns,” One of the men hissed. His face was heavily blanketed in scar tissue, misshapen like acid had been thrown on it. Donghyuk could only assume something awful had happened to him during the year of darkness, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel any sympathy.

         Johnny looked like he wanted to let loose a colorful display of curse words, but Jaehyun held him back, ever the mediator.

        “He’s not a thing.” He said in his light, sweet voice, even daring to give a placating smile. “He’s a boy. Just a boy.”

        “A boy who killed someone to summon a monster.” Another woman said, breaking free from the throng.

         “He had no choice!” Yuta said angrily.

          “A likely story. They all had choices. Every single piece of filth that coupled with a demon had a choice. They chose to be powerful, even if it meant others had to suffer.” The man with the mangled face said, pointing at his own ruined flesh.

         “I don’t know what happened to you during that year, but our friend had nothing to do with your face getting fucked up.” Johnny said, his face beginning to flush in hardly controlled anger.

          Jaehyun reached forward, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling his large frame back.

         “Stop it Johnny.” He muttered under his breath, tugging at his arm to try to get him to turn away and back away from the crowd. They didn’t need a fight to happen here, in the black market of all places. “We didn’t come here for trouble.”

          “You demon sympathizers going out during the day at all is you looking for trouble. But your time is up. Once the new legislation passes, your little vessel friend at home will get what he deserves. And you.” The man with the ruined face said in a toxic voice, swiveling to face Jaehyun with the most disgusted sneer. “Don’t think the whole town doesn’t know about what you used to do for pocket change. Lilin whore. Demon fucker.”

          It took Donghyuk a long while of silence to realize what happened. It took an extended moment of watching Jaehyun reach up to wipe at his eye to realize that he’d been spit on. The man had spit on him. A white-hot disbelief crept up Donghyuk’s spine, but Jaehyun was not reacting. Just calmly wiping it away from his face in that same subdued, peaceful manner, and Donghyuk was going to lose it. His rage was just at eruption point when Johnny snapped first, surging towards the man with his fists clenched. He grabbed at the neckline of his shirt, dragging him forward in a stuttering rage.

          “Did you just fucking… you fucking _spit_ on my friend— you…”

          Donghyuk saw the neckline of the man’s shirt tearing, small threads licking up from the fabric, and all around them people were jeering, calling out slurs.

         “You fucker I’m going to—”

         “Johnny, stop.”

         “Make sure you have no teeth, you ignorant—”

          A flurry of movement made the crowd scatter and gasp. Johnny had thrown the man on the ground hard enough that the breath was knocked out of him and he gasped like a beached fish in the dirt. Almost too quickly to register, Johnny had pulled his arm back and landed a solid punch against the man’s face. Donghyuk heard Jeno gasp before running forward, reaching him just after Johnny’s fist made impact again with the man’s face. This time, there was a small scattering of teeth; three bloodied chips on the ground, and a small puncture on the man’s cheek where his canines dug through. And he was howling obscenities, but he was mostly just howling in pain; the singed tangle of his skin coated in a thin sheet of dirt. And Donghyuk hated him. And he deserved this. But part of him couldn’t help but wonder what he had gone through in the past for his face and his heart to have become so hateful.

          His body was moving on autopilot. He reached down to where Johnny was thrashing the man on the ground, pulling him up and forcing him back. Donghyuk was vaguely aware that Hansol, Yuta and Jeno were also beside him, restraining their tallest member; and Jaehyun was in front. He was trying to placate the crowd, bowing his head in apology on Johnny’s behalf.

 _But you shouldn’t be._ Donghyuk thought as his feet propelled him backwards, away from the angry mob, towards the safety of their home. Jaehyun was turning too, and they were pelting things at him. Food scraps, bottles, calling him a whore, inundating him until they were out of sight. They were halfway home when Johnny’s rage became sorrow and he began to sob wordlessly, propped up against Hansol and Yuta’s shoulders, his knuckled bloody, riddled with teethmarks. And Jaehyun’s apologies turned towards them, apologizing for what he’d done. For bringing them shame. For not getting them to safety earlier. _You shouldn’t be apologizing._ Donghyuk thought as the sun went down.

_You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing._

 

~~

**Laws for Post-Vessel Containment and Documentation**

In pursuit of the safety and morale of the Korean public, these Post-Vessel laws have been voted for and are effective forthwith:

Article 1.

  * Post-Vessels are to enter a registry declaring the demon with whom they had once been contracted.
  * For public safety and easy recognition, every Post-Vessel is obligated to wear an identifying badge.




End file.
